Forbidden Pleasures
by history lady 24
Summary: A delicious look back at some of the Forbidden Pleasures that Tom taught Sybil all about during the lost moments of Season Two. Will be full of sultry glances, a few wandering hands, and plenty of other things that are fun to imagine. **AU, at least for awhile.**
1. Chapter 1

_Everyone needs to smile sometimes, right? Not that we've been doing too much of that the last few days. Isn't it amazing how a completely fictional tragedy can affect you? But smile we must, eventually. And so I give you this – a glimpse back into Season Two, when Sybil and Tom were falling deeper in love with one another (I personally think she loved him for a long time before she could admit it) and the world seemed much happier. _

_The first bit of this fic, which I'm calling Forbidden Pleasures, is a bit of a teaser. I have the next episode nearly done, and will be posting it sometime in the next few days. This beginning piece alludes to a 'lost moment' during Season Two that I created a bit ago called "In For A Penny". You'll find it among my fics as a one shot. This fic follows the rather – salacious – horseback ride that Tom and Sybil take together in "In For a Penny". I hope you enjoy it, and I hope that, for just a moment even, that you are smiling again. _

"You do realize that you owe me, yes?" White shirtsleeves crossed across a dark green wool vest.

An eyebrow arched haughtily in response. "Oh really?"

If Tom had had his eyes closed, he would have sworn that he was talking to the Dowager Countess. But his eyes were very much open, and he was enjoying the sight before him. There was nothing quite so beautiful as a slightly riled Sybil. He tried to press his lips together to suppress the grin he could feel struggling to break free.

"Yes, I believe you do."

"How so?"

Her aristocratic English accent was even stronger when she spoke like this. Finally he couldn't help it. The grin broke free.

"How so?" he mocked her, repeating her words in a high voice while attempting to mimic her accent.

Sybil laughed, totally taken aback by Tom's antics. Watching him, staring at him, she unwittingly mimicked his body language, crossing her own arms across her chest.

He took a step closer to her, closing some of the distance between them in the garage.

Sybil in turn stepped back, and discovered herself to be directly in front of his work bench. _Trapped._ The voice in her head rang with sarcasm. _In another three steps he'll be close enough to touch me. In four he could kis –_

The thought broke off at Tom's voice. She snapped her head up slightly, bringing her eyes off his lips and back to his eyes.

"Have you forgotten your attempt to teach me to ride a horse a few weeks ago?"

Sybil's eyes closed and she felt her face go hot at the memory at the feel of Tom's body between her legs. Now _that_ had been an afternoon to remember. And remember it she had – both day and night, it seemed, from the frequency of the dream she'd been having that involved Tom, an impatient horse stomping nearby, and a rather large pile of leaves.

She shifted a foot underneath her skirts, her legs tingling slightly.

She opened her eyes and tried to look innocent, suspecting that she was utterly failing. _Not that he minds when I look wicked, I dare say… _

He stood just a few short inches from her. His body looked even more taunt and muscular at this proximity. Sybil bit back the sound that she could feel forming in the back of her throat.

_God, what I wouldn't give for some of that confidence…._ She eyed him a bit warily, afraid to open her mouth for fear of what might come out.

His arms fell from his chest. In another instant Sybil heard skin hit wood. Her head snapped around to look at Tom's arm, which now boxed her in on one side, his hand leaning firmly on the wooden bench.

"Or have you managed to forget that whole afternoon?" His voice was soft now, but his eyes were still teasing.

"No." Her voice shook ever so slightly.

"No. Well, I've not either." He paused and grinned. "So I've decided that it's only fair to return the favor."

A vision of Tom's legs wrapped around her filled Sybil's mind before she could stop it. _If he rode behind me I wonder if I'd feel…._

She blinked. _Must. Not._

"Oh?" She tried for haughty, but she knew it was closer to hungry.

As did Tom, apparently, from the look on his face.

Tipping his chin down and narrowing his eyes slightly, he tried to keep his laughter in.

_Smack._ Sybil heard the other hand make contact with the wood just a moment after she felt Tom's arm touch hers on her left side. He slid the other hand over slightly, so that his arms we pressing ever so slightly against both of hers. Her eyes darted from one arm to the other, and then to his chest which was just short inches from hers.

"Do you know," he nearly whispered, his voice low and a little gravely, "exactly how it feels to be trapped and riding on top of an animal that is large enough to kill you with one leg, if it so chose? To be penned in on all sides, with nowhere to go, and no way to get off, because you're being held on against your wi-"

"Oh don't even try to pretend that you didn't enjoy it, Tom Branson." The words flew out of her mouth, completely uncensored.

Tom threw back his head and laughed. "I don't know what you mean, milady." His tone was slightly mocking.

"You know very well what I mean. You cannot tell me that you didn't enjoy being up on that horse with me. How we….rode...together."

"I'll certainly not deny that. But you do have to admit that you had me rather at a disadvantage."

"Which you rather enjoyed, I don't doubt." Sybil tried not to grin as she said it.

Tom laughed, and much to her amusement his cheeks flushed slightly. _So he does actually blush sometimes._

"True. I suppose that I must admit that a bit of aristocratic oppression might be rather fun." His blue eyes were sparkling.

Sybil rolled hers upward in response.

"The thing is, though, I do believe that I owe you. After all, it's only fair. If I'm supposed to learn the rules of your world, than you shall have to learn the rules of mine."

_So I will know what to expect, if I say yes someday._ Sybil eyed Tom thoughtfully. _Even when we're flirting, rather harmlessly (Well, what I consider to be rather harmlessly! I suppose that the Mary probably wouldn't think so) he's still trying. Every moment. He's still thinking of ways to convince me to…._

A smile played on her lips. Reaching out a hand, she let herself touch the green wool of his vest lightly, her fingertips caressing across it. Tom's eyes dropped to her hand the second he felt it, as though he had to see the gesture to believe it to be true.

_And so if you're going to devise ways to tempt me, I suppose I shall have to do my best to keep you on your toes too._ Sybil knew the thought was a bit cruel, but the truth was that at times, she felt like she had absolutely no control over the situation. The one thing that she did still have some sort of management over, though, was when they touched. There were some rules that even Tom could not break too often.

_And I, on the other hand, seem to want to break them all the time. And have been, recently._ As if to prove her point, she let two of her fingers grab lightly for one of the vest buttons.

She enjoyed watching Tom's smile broaden at the gesture. He looked up then, after a moment, to find a pair of rather smoky gray blue eyes meeting his.

"And what do you intend to teach me, Mr. Branson?" There was a rather seductive tease in her tone.

"If only you knew, milady." There was a caress in his use of her title.

The gray blue eyes narrowed slightly as she turned her head a bit. _I can only imagine…._

"Let's just say that I suspect your education might have been a bit lacking in….shall we say….some of the forbidden pleasures of life?"

"Forbidden pleasures. My. That sounds rather promising." Sybil felt her expression change to a rather wicked and pleased smile.

"It will be, have no fear."

_Cock-sure as always. But then again, would I want him any other way?_

That, at least, was a question that she knew the answer to already.


	2. Fish, Chips, & Fingers

_Chapter One! I'm really eager to see what everyone thinks of this little chapter of Forbidden Pleasures. The next is in progress, the details not yet quite ironed out in my mind. I suppose you could argue that this might be an AU fic, as I dare say that my Sybil and Tom are doing things here that they would never have dreamed of doing during the show. Then again, when the camera is no longer rolling and the doors are closed….._

_If you're looking for true juiciness, I'm sorry to disappoint. This fic, to me, is more about the fun of flirting that we all, hopefully, get to experience at one time or another. Its high school angst and crushing at its best, I suppose. But I promise that there will be some steaminess…_

_Just a note – the episode I mention in here when Sybil remembers nursing Tom the night she returned from York is another fic that I wrote titled "In Sickness and In Health". _

_And to Yankee Countess – I managed again! (you'll see what I mean below)_

Sybil could smell their dinner before she reached the back of the garage. Looking around to make sure that no one was watching, she reached up a tentative hand to knock on the cottage door.

Two raps were all it took to bring Tom to the door. He opened it, a broad, cheeky grin on his face.

"You came."

Sybil gave him a half disgusted look. "Of course I came. Did you expect me not to?"

"Well….it is rather unconventional. Eating dinner with your chauffeur." There was a pleased lilt in his voice that made his accent even stronger than normal.

"Don't tell me that you're trying to make me into someone conventional now. Really, Tom," she teased.

"You are the most unconventional Lady I've ever met." The blue eyes twinkled.

"That's more like it. Besides, I've been told that you won't always be a chauffeur, so that's that then." She paused and sniffed daintily. "Now, what are we having for dinner? I could smell it nearly the moment I left the house." Her tone was light, but Tom could tell from her face that she was slightly nervous in their present situation.

Stepping further into the cottage, she hesitated. She stood quietly for a moment, looking around, and trying to take it all in.

She'd been in here before, of course. But it had been awhile. She remembered the evening she'd walked past the window of the cottage several years earlier, on a hot summer night when she couldn't sleep. She'd been much younger then – sixteen, maybe? Seventeen? The sight of Tom inside, his shirt off, all bare skin and britches, had been enough to stop her in her tracks even then. She remembered how her feet seemed to root in the spot one moment, and then suddenly carry her away as though they were wings the next as Tom started to turn towards the window where she stood.

She'd often wondered if he could hear her that evening, her feet scooping noisily into the gravel as she ran off. _I wonder what he'd do if I asked him about it. _The thought brought a tiny smile to her face. _If he thought it would work, if I hinted that it might put me over the edge, he'd probably strip if off again now, just as fast as you could say Jack Robinson._

She allowed a tiny smile to play on her lips at the memory, only shaking her head slightly. Tom was watching her carefully and caught her eye, a question in his gaze. She shook her head slightly. No. Some thing could not quite be said yet.

The next memory that came back to her was much less pleasant. It was of the night she'd returned from York. She'd never forget that evening either. She'd been scared with Edith had arrived to fetch her home from nurses training, as Tom was terribly sick. She remembered sneaking out to his cottage later that evening to nurse him. At the time she'd told herself that she was just simply looking in on him, caring for a friend. Looking back, though, she knew that her actions that night were her way of apologizing to him as best she could, her hands saying what her mouth could not.

Memories raging in her head, Sybil stood still, her eyes roaming across the room, her expression telling Tom that she was seeing things that he could not.

_I wonder if she's trying to picture herself living in a place like this. A tiny cottage, knowing that it might be the best that I could ever give to her. How this could be her fate, perhaps, if she left Downton with me. Mother of God, how can I possibly have the fall to hope that she'll ever be able to do this after living in such grandeur from the moment she was born?_

Tom's face clouded slightly just as Sybil's eyes lit on him again. She gave him a small smile, the action banishing the cobwebs in her mind.

_Maybe she will. Maybe she actually will….._

Her quick glance turned into a prolonged gaze that was enough to bring Tom out of his brief mental stupor. Suddenly he realized that she was wearing a light coat over her uniform.

"May I?" He stepped around to stand behind her, his hands reaching to her shoulders to pull the garment back. He could smell her perfume, the lilac scent she'd been using as long as he'd known her. He breathed it in.

There was a little curl there, at the back of her neck, that had come loose from her bun. It lay dark against her white neck, the contrast between the two colors so striking. _To be able to kiss that. To put my lips on…._

Tom felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. _To be able to…._ Here she was, standing in his cottage, having come of her own fruition. They were breaking so many rules doing this. Rules that they both knew, and both understood. If they were caught the consequences would be harsh for both of them. He'd lose his job, she'd lose her reputation.

_Yet she's still here. She chose to be with me, tonight. Even if it's only an hour, only for a dinner. She's still here. With me._

Tom's seemingly infinite courage buoyed by the thought, he let his hand caress lightly along the length of her back as he removed her coat. Sybil turned her head to look back at him, an expression on her face that seemed to say _You never give up, do you?_

_I certainly don't plan on it,_ blue eyes responded.

Sybil cleared her throat and took a step towards the table. "You didn't answer my question. What are we dining on tonight?" Her fingers sought out the back of the nearest chair where they danced nervously.

"Fried fish, chips, and lager. I knew I wouldn't have time to make anything, so I stopped at the Grantham Arms earlier. They're in the stove, to keep warm."

"You know how to cook?" Sybil looked a bit incredulously at Tom.

"Yes. My mam taught us all when we were young."

"Oh." Sybil tried to process the information as best she could. _A man who cooks. Well, at least we won't starve for my lack of skills, if we ever…._

"Do you normally make your own food, then? I thought you probably ate downstairs, with the others…" She looked down at the table, unable to refer to him, to his face, as a servant.

_Do they have any idea how we operate?_

Turning his back to Sybil, Tom reached for the oven door. "I don't eat at the big house very often. Chauffeurs are expected to stay to themselves, and that includes eating too."

"I didn't know that." Sybil felt ridiculous the moment she said it. _Of course I didn't know. Why else would I have asked? Really, Sybil, sometimes you say the stupidest things._

Not sure what to do with herself, she walked around the table. Watching intently as Tom bent over the oven slightly to check the food, she found herself admiring the view. After a long moment she wrested her eyes off of his backside and to the oven and its contents.

What she did not expect to see were two bundles of newspapers.

"Tom, I thought you said we were having fish. That looks much more like the local Ripon Post."

Tom laughed and straightened up. "You've never seen fish and chips before, have you? They're always wrapped in paper. It helps with the grease, and keeps them warm while you eat them."

Sybil blushed. "I don't suppose I have." Flustered, she turned back to the table. "Shall I get out the plates and glasses? Where would they be?" _Must keep myself occupied. I must not act ridiculous._

"Not tonight."

"What?" Sybil turned to face Tom again.

A fish packet in each hand, Tom grinned at her. "If you're going to eat fish and chips, you're going to do it properly. No plates, no silver, no glasses. Fish and chips, straight from the paper, and lager from the bottle."

Sybil felt her jaw drop ever so slightly.

"Oh."

"If you're going to eat fish and chips, you have to do it properly."

"Really." Sybil arched an eyebrow as Tom hand her a packet. It was warm in her hand. She pulled back the corner slightly and looked rather curiously at the contents.

She sniffed and wrinkled her nose delicately. "What is that smell?"

"Malt vinegar for the fries." Turning to the cupboard, he pulled out two brown bottles. "And here's your champagne to match." Uncorking the lager, he handed her the bottle.

She burst out laughing. "Really. And here I thought you were going to be serving me the finest Irish food, but instead you expect me to eat friend fish and chips that can be smelled a mile away, from a newspaper, with lager." She was grinning as she said it. Peeling back the paper a bit further, she examined the contents again.

"Try it. They're very tasty."

Sybil extracted a chip and held it up for examination.

A devious look passed over Tom's face. Bringing his head down slightly, he proceeded to bit the chip in Sybil's hand.

"Tom!" Her eyes were big and she was laughing as she watched him chew. "Really! You just ate that out of my hand!"

He swallowed and grinned. "Well, you're just letting them get cold and go to waste."

"You're impossible!" She tried to sound upset, but she knew she was utterly failing.

Reaching into her pouch, she extracted another chip and took a bite.

"These are good!" she said, a half eaten chip still in her mouth as she spoke.

His own packet still lying on the table, Tom reached into Sybil's and took another chip.

"Hey! That's mine!" She grabbed his hand instinctively and tried to take it back.

Tom, however, had other ideas. Instead of letting go, he brought both of their hands up to her mouth.

Sybil, now catching on to what he was doing, opened her mouth and moved to bit the chip from his fingers. Tom, smiling rakishly, ran the chip along her lips slowly before allowing her to finally bite it.

_So that's how it's to be tonight. Well, Mr. Branson, I can tease too._

Her eyes began to smolder a little as she looked at his face, which was now quite close to hers. Extracting another chip, she ran it along her own lips before taking it slowly into her mouth, her pink tongue coming out to welcome it inside.

Tom stood perfectly still, staring at her, mesmerized by the action and the sight of her tongue darting out through her lips.

_My God. To be that chip._

Even that, though, didn't prepare him for what happened next. Drawing yet another chip from the packet, she reached up and began to trace it slowly, even languidly, across his lips, first the top, and then the bottom. She let it linger just a moment on the corner of his mouth where the two came together.

A sound that Sybil had never quite heard before escaped Tom's mouth as he watched her slowly pull the chip back and, her eyes on him the entire time, place the chip between her own pink lips.

"Holy –" he whispered, stopping himself just before the expletive fell from his mouth.

Sybil blushed brightly and ducked her head, suddenly unable to make eye contact with him.

Turning to face the table, she picked up his packet and turned around to hand it to him. "I suppose I should probably give you this, since I intend to eat all of mine. Well, what's left." She looked up at him through her eye lashes. "They do taste quite good."

_Taste. Taste. To be able to taste…._

Tom took the packet wordlessly, He did not, however, make any move to open it. Instead he watched as Sybil took a rather large bite of her fish.

Chewing and swallowing, she reached back to the table for her bottle of lager. She took a tentative sip, and then another.

Drawing the bottle back from her lips, she eyed Tom. "Are you going to eat anything? I mean, you must be rather hungry by this time of the day."

_Hungry. Good God yes. Hungry for you, for your fingers, for your lips, for…_

"Well?" An eyebrow arched and her chin tipped downward slightly.

He breathed out heavily. "Wou-"

He cut the word short and clamped his mouth shut. _No. I can't say that. I can't ask her to do that. God only knows what she would think of me, if I said…._

"What?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing." Fumbling with the paper, he looked down at the food in his hands.

"Tom," her voice was firm. "What were you going to say?"

"Nothing. It was nothing. I was just….never mind."

"Tom." There was a command in her tone that he could hear quite distinctly. He looked up and into her gaze. "Tell me."

"I can't. It was…inappropriate."

Sybil snorted. "And this is? Any of this?" She lifted up her lager and gestured around them.

"True." He rolled his eyes slightly, acknowledging her point.

"What were you going to ask me?" Her voice was getting lower and a little huskier with each sentence.

He reached down and broke off the tip of the fish in his hand. Instead of eating it, though, he placed it in her hand.

"Would – "

This time he managed at least to get an entire word out.

She said nothing, but held the fish in her finger tips for a second before turning her gaze upward. Neither of them said a word as she raised the piece to his mouth.

He felt himself open his mouth, and felt her fingers brush up against his lips. His tongue darted outward and licked the tips of them lightly. Instead of drawing back them back, though, she let them linger just a breath from his lips as he chewed and swallowed. And she offered no resistance as Tom brought his mouth to them and kissed them, his mouth closed, and then again with his lips slightly open, his tongue coming out to caress the ends of them.

Sybil watched, transfixed, as Tom sucked the ends of her fingers gently. She knew she should bring them down, that she should look away, that she should leave the cottage right now, before he did anything else.

But she couldn't. And then he started to kiss her hand with slightly wet, open-mouthed kisses, his rough tongue tracing the lines of her palm, creating smoldering trenches of fire. She watched as her fingers cupped his face, caressing it, almost holding it, as though forbidding his lips to pull away. Warm skin on warm skin.

The need for more was always there.

She felt as though something inside of her was melting. A moan escaped from somewhere inside of her.

At that moment she felt the lips on her hand smile.

_Forbidden pleasures indeed._


	3. Sunshine, Swimming, and Skin

_Thank so much to everyone who commented on my segment of Forbidden Pleasures, who is following, and who has favorited! I love seeing what you have to say about these little episodes, and I'm so pleased that I can bring you some Sybil and Tom happiness._

_A couple of words about this scene. I know it's a bit crazy….but this is all about a bold and flirty courtship. A couple of you have asked when this is supposed to be taking place. The answer to that is vague – fall 1918. I'm not going to attach any of the scenes to Downton Canon, or to world events. This is all about fun and some steamy fluff when they are at the point that they know they're in love with one another, but she just can't quite voice it yet. _

_Some of you've asked about kissing – I'm not sure yet. I'm not 100% sure that I believe that they didn't kiss until that night….something about Tom's line there makes me think there may have been some illicit kisses along the way. And heaven knows that where I leave this chapter there's certainly room for it. I like to leave you guys knowing that there's the potential for more in each scene, so you can close out the story as you like. _

_And just in case anybody goes nuts, yes, there were a few bold women wearing bathing suits that were the basic equivalent to a modest one piece today. I'm just saying. And Tom? Yeah. Someday I'll write a fic in which he stays fully dressed. Really. _

_Happy reading!_

* * *

He heard the sound of splashing water when he was still on the path. It was one of his favorite walks, a tunnel of trees that opened suddenly onto a small lake. The trees were all afire with their fall colors, their leaves a blaze of reds, yellows, and oranges against the bright blue sky.

The day was unseasonably warm. Indian summer, he'd heard a Yank call it once. One of those last teasing days when the temperatures climbed and the sun shone brightly, if more briefly, as the days continued to shorten, beckoning ahead to winter.

It was so warm, indeed, that as soon as he returned from bringing Mrs. Crawley to the big house for luncheon he hurried back to his cottage and shed his uniform. It was his afternoon off, and at that very moment nothing sounded more refreshing than taking off the heavy wool green livery and long sleeved shirt and replacing them with his own light linen trousers and cotton shirt. While the casual outfit would hardly meet with Mr. Carson's approval, Tom didn't worry, as the afternoon was his, and he intended to get as far away from the house as possible and explore some of the back paths on the estate.

He didn't really think too much about the sound of the water, other than to note that the noise was uncommon. At least he assumed so – he'd never heard it before when he was walking back there. Then again, he didn't make it this far on the estate that often.

A few moments alter he walked out of the heavily canopied trees and into the clearing. The afternoon sun shone brightly on the lake, causing the water to sparkle brightly. Tom stopped and stood still for a moment, his hands tucked in his pockets, and breathed deeply. The county here was so beautiful – particularly so for a city kid who grew up in Dublin.

Scanning the lake with his eyes, he found the source of the splash he'd heard earlier. Someone was swimming on the far side of the lake. Probably a local boy from one of the farms. He stood and watched enviously as the swimmer plied the water in strong, sure strokes, making quick time in crossing the small lake.

He'd never learned to swim. Most of the kids he grew up with never did. They were too far from the docks, or even the shore, to spend any time there. He remembered going to the ocean a few times – there had been a trip when he was young that he remembered distinctly – but in general, such an adventure meant riding the expensive streetcar, a luxury in which he did not often indulge. And when he did go, he'd never more then waded into the water, his socks and shoes discarded and his pants rolled up.

_Which would feel rather good right now._ The water looked cool and refreshing, and as there was no one but a local lad to see, Tom decided to allow himself the indulgence. Walking closer to the edge of the water, he discarded his shoes and socks on the grassy bank and reached down to roll up his trousers.

He stepped off the edge of the grassy bank into the water. _This is more like it,_ he thought. The water was cool and clean enough that he could see the wavy outline of his toes when he looked down. In another moment he was standing in water high enough that it covered his calves.

A moment later he found himself staring upward at a loud flock of geese that were flying overhead in a perfect v formation.

_Going home, I suppose. Wherever home is. I wonder if I'll ever…_

The thought was cut short as Tom gasped. There were hands, suddenly, on his ankles, gripping them from behind, under the water. He tried to spin around to see the culprit - _Little bugger! – _but in the process he lost his balance and crashed onto the lake bottom, landing on his backside.

"What is bloody hell do you think – "

There was a laugh behind him.

His face blanched. "Sybil?" he squeaked.

She was laughing hard and gasping for breath, having just swam underneath the water for several yards.

"Yes?" Standing up over Tom, she stretched out a hand to help him rise.

_Holy God._

_Where in the world did she get that? _

It registered somewhere in the back of Tom's mind that his jaw had just dropped open and that he was plainly gaping at her as she stood before him. Yet it didn't seem to register that he could do anything about it. In fact nothing registered, at that moment, except for what she was wearing.

He'd seen women in bathing suits before. In fact he's seen women wearing – well – less than a bathing suit. But none of them had been Sybil. And none of them looked anything like the sight before him now.

It was held up by thing straps that stood out against her white skin. The neckline scooped down a bit lower then the current fashion, revealing just a hint of the top of her breast. The dark blue fabric hugged her curves tightly, wrapping around her like a second skin. It stopped just a few short inches down her thighs, revealing more white skin above the water line.

_Holy, holy God._

"Well? Am I to help you up, or are you going to sit there all day staring at me?"

He heard her voice, but his eyes still couldn't quite find her face. They were still too busy absorbing the rest of her.

"Come on Tom, really."

The sound of his name on her lips finally did it. He looked up to a grinning Sybil.

"Yes?" she teased.

"Where under heaven did you find that?"

She laughed again, shaking her head slightly. The motion made tiny water droplets fall from the curls that had escaped around her face, the hair that was not long enough to pull back into her braid.

"Grandmama sent it to me, from America. She's the one who taught me to swim, years ago, when we visited her. She still goes out as often as she can."

Tom grinned, his cockiness quickly returning. "Tell her I said thank you, when you write her next."

Sybil rolled her eyes and giggled as she swatted playfully at his head.

"Well, are you going to get up, or shall I leave you sitting at the bottom of the lake all afternoon?"

_Get up._

_Shit._

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, the full realization of what he would look like when he stood, in his completely soaked clothes, washing over his mind.

_Not that it's probably going to change anytime soon, not when she's standing there, and dressed like that. _

In that instant he wished the water was a little colder.

_Oh well._

Grabbing the hand she offered, he stood quickly, water pouring down his frame.

"You're a bit wet," she teased, her eyes tracing slowly across his chest and arms.

"And you're not?" He knew it was a weak retort, but couldn't seem to formulate anything better in his brain at that moment.

"True. Then again, I suppose I'm wet by choice." She grinned wickedly. "And I'm not done yet. It's too nice a day to get out of the water now, when it's still so warm." A dark eyebrow arched up. "Care to join me?"

Tom laughed a little nervously. "Sure. Except, well, I can't swim."

"Really?"

"Really and truly."

"Then I suppose I'll have to teach you."

_She never takes no for an answer, does she? _His mind flashed back to their horseback adventure together. _And now for another situation in which I could possibly die. _

Tom persed his lips together and folded his arms across his chest. "No. Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on." She rested a hand light on his arms, her lower lip edging out into a slight pout.

"For me?"

It was probably the lip that did it. Or the low, sweet voice that had just the edge of a purr in it. Or what she was wearing, and the thought that he'd be able to look at her, in it, for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

Sybil was having a hard time knowing exactly where to look. The expression on his face as he watched her was enough to leave her completely breathless. And then there was also the rest of him to consider, dripping wet with water, his clothing plastered to his body.

_My. My my my…._

She was also having a hard time quite believing herself. This – this – whatever this was, was completely out of line. Completely. There was no way that she should ever, ever, let anyone see her like this. When Grandmama had sent her the suit originally, at the beginning of last summer, with a note telling her that it was the very latest in American styles, she'd hidden the package, hoping that no one would see it. She'd worn it a few times during the summer, but only when she was swimming by herself, back here, when no one else was around.

_But it's not as if you knew that you'd be seeing him out here today. It's an innocent mistake._

_Innocent. Yes. Probably not the best word to describe you right now, as you stand there, your hand resting on a cocked him, miles of skin visible, a completely wicked grin on your face…._

The two voices in her head were warring again.

She knew that if she was a proper lady, she'd have stayed on the other side of the lake, in the water. A proper lady would not have spirited across it, the second she saw a man standing on the opposite shore. And a proper lady certainly never would have ducked under the water and grabbed at his legs – _his ankles,_ the voice corrected her – to tip him over.

_But what fun is being proper? And anyway, he likes me this way. And what better was is there to torment him?_

_Except that. Okay. Never mind._

Sybil stood quietly as she watched Tom watch her, a mixture of headiness and desire and nerves.

_I wonder if there's any way to make him feel just as self-conscious as I do at this very moment. _

_No._

_I can't do that._

_I can't tell him that he has to…._

_That men, when they swim…_

_Mmm…._

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

The question startled her out of her daydream.

"You're sure that you can teach me, and I won't swallow half the lake?"

Sybil giggled. "Well, I suppose that's partially up to you. It's not too hard."

"The last time you said that I nearly fell off a horse."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Yes, you did have such a tough time of it that day," she teased.

"Well, then." Tom turned and walked towards the bank. He turned around and smiled at her when he reached it, a look of pure mischief on his face flashed before her as he turned his back.

Sybil watched, completely spellbound, as she watched his hands disappear briefly in front of his chest, and then one arm began to stretch out to the side…

_Holy shit, he's going to…._

_Oh. _

_Oh. My. _

_Who knew a back could be so…_

"Mmmmm." She put her hand up to her mouth to try and stop the sounds coming from it. It didn't work terribly well, though, because a moment later, when Tom turned around the volume of the noises she was making seemed only to increase.

_Yes. Yes. I will marry you. But only if you promise that I can see that….that…you…like that….every single day._

The words and thoughts and images were moving through her mind so fast that she could barely breathe.

She knew she was starring. She knew that whatever expression was in her eyes would only encourage Tom more. But wasn't she already doing that, dressed as she was? And didn't she want to, really, if she was honest with herself? Weren't these the moments that she lived for?

_Which is why I will enjoy myself this afternoon, and just pray to God that no one finds us.  
_

* * *

Tom knew that he was showing off, that his ego was getting the best of him, yet again, but he couldn't help it. Something about all of that white skin, so beautiful, so very visible, was just too much. He couldn't stand next to that and be fully dressed. He wanted to feel the water, the sun, _her eyes,_ on his skin too, and know that she was thinking the same thing about him that he was about her.

He stepped off the bank and back into the lake, walking towards her, watching her, grinning at her. With every step he took her eyes seemed to get a little bit bigger, her hand pressed a little harder against her lips.

_My. She really is agitated._

He knew it was completely narcissistic, but he couldn't help but be pleased at her reaction.

"So," he said, stopping a few short paces from her, the water up to his knees. "What do I do next?" There was a slightly rumble in his voice, a mixture of excitement and a touch of apprehension.

"We should go further – into the lake – where it's deeper." She moved her hand away from her mouth and made a vague gesture. "Out – " she pointed, and then dropped her hand.

Tom almost reached for it, but stopped himself. If he touched her here, now, felt that skin, he wasn't quite sure where his hand would stop. There was no cuff, no sleeve, no – anything, practically – to stop him once he began.

_She's not even wearing a corset. _He knew the thought was stupid – it was obvious to anyone that she wasn't. But he still found himself lingering over the thought. _Nothing but just that thin layer of fabric…  
_

* * *

Sybil stopped walking and turned to face him. "This is good." The water was at her chest level. "Tom?"

"Sorry," he apologized.

"The hardest part about swimming is that you have to learn to trust the water. Your body will float naturally, if you relax- " her voice cracked slightly. "You just have to trust it, and sort of lie down, on it, and let it hold you."

_Lie done and let it hold you. Honestly Sybil, the things you say._

"I'm supposed to lie down on the water and relax?" Tom obviously didn't believe her.

"Like you would in a hot bath." She nearly groaned the moment the words escaped her lips. _Like a hot bath. Yes, Sybil. Well said. As if there wasn't enough bare skin in front of you already, you're now picturing him in a hot bath, and he can probably read every single thought on your face. So much for doing a fine job at hiding my feelings. Damn._

At that moment Sybil lost her ability to look at Tom. She'd been ok – well in a manner of speaking – up to this point. But this completely undid her. There was just a little too much of Tom exposed, right in front of her, for her mind to not go down the trail that he offered.

Tom couldn't help it. He laughed. And then she did too, and the tension started to break a little. In a moment they were both laughing and red-faced, standing in the middle of the lake together.

"So anyway – " Sybil tried to compose herself, her face rosy, eyes shining.

"Yes. I'm supposed to relax."

"Yes. You are. But not like you're in a bathtub. Don't think about bathtubs-"

"Like you are."

"Like I am. Honestly, Tom. Sometimes I just want to tell you to –"

"Sod off." He finished the sentence for her.

The giggles started again. She moved a hand up to cover her eyes, yet there was a smile on her face.

Tom tried to pull his face into a serious expression. He let out a heavy breath, the sound of which caused Sybil to lower her hands and open her eyes.

"Anyway. You want to lie back on the water, with your hands at your sides, and your feet straight out in front of you. And you'll want to kick your feet. That will help you stay afloat. Like this."

She floated gracefully backward, her kicking feet just breaking the surface a moment later. Her hands fluttered prettily at her side, creating ripples that spun out into the lake in dizzying circles.

She floated for a moment, right before him, and then just as suddenly as she had begun, she dropped her feet and came to stand on the lake bottom again. "There. Did you see what I did?"

Tom nodded dumbly. Like he could take his eyes off her if he tried.

"Now you try. Just let the water lift your legs. You'll be fine. And if not, I'll be right here to help."

Tom gave her a dubious look without moving.

"Trust me."

Tom's blue eyes closed before he could stop them. _Trust me. Uh – those words. Trust me. Let me hold your heart, let my hold your life, all in my hands. Trust me that I'll not refuse you. Trust me that I do love you, even if I'm still too afraid to admit it. Trust me that as I stand here before you today, taunting you and teasing you with my every move, that one day, I'll say yes, and all of this will be yours. My heart, my body, my life. All yours. To take to Dublin, to marry. Trust me._

The voice in his head was mocking him again.

_No. This was not the place to think of that. She's here, with me, now. And that matters. _

"Tom? Are you ready?"

_Shouldn't I be asking you that?_

"Sorry." Tom turned around slightly, so he was standing with his side to her. He knew it was probably ridiculous, but he wanted the reassurance of her near him, when he tried.

"Now on the count of three, tip back, kick your legs, and think light thoughts," she teased.

_Light thoughts. _A picture came into his mind of a large tree with a young girl standing underneath it, beautiful in a lavender and cream dress._ That's what floating feels like, _he remembered.

Kicking his feet out and leaning back, Tom tried to follow her instructions. Straightening his body out, though, seemed suddenly hard to do, and he felt himself begin to sink. Forcing his legs down again, he sputtered as his head bobbed at the surface at the water. In a moment he was standing and wiping his mouth.

_That was graceful, _ he berated himself. He gave her a dubious look.

"Try again. You'll get it, don't fret." Her voice was a little more gentle now.

"Right." Tom leaned back into the water again, this time managing to straighten his body for a moment. The instant he began to kick, however, his torso began to fold and he could feel his bottom began to sink down.

"There, I've got you."

Tom's eyes shot wide open. _Good God._ She was touching him. She had her hands, _her hands_, on his back. Under the water. On his bare back. Holding him, pushing him upward, slightly, back into a straight line. Though the water was cool he could feel himself burn at her touch, and he briefly wondered if there would be a red mark there when she moved them away.

It took him a moment to remember that he was supposed to be kicking still. As soon as he remembered, though, he began to kick enthusiastically, willing to do anything it took to keep her there, her hands touching him.

Sybil laughed. "Tom – Tom! You don't have to kick up the entire lake! You'll tire out quickly if you keep that up for long." Droplets of lake water were raining down enthusiastically from the sky onto her.

_Which means I'll just have to sink into your arms, then. _Trying to focus on the job at hand, and not on those deliciously slim, firm fingers on his back, Tom tried to find a steady, if more restrained rhythm.

"Well done. Now, can you feel yourself moving a bit?" she asked, smiling down at Tom as she leaned over him slightly.

"Aye."

"Now, then, I want you to imagine yourself going in a straight line, backwards, as though you driving backwards."

"In reverse."

"In reverse. Whatever you call it. I'll walk with you, next to you. I'll be right here, if you need me."

_Is that a promise?_

"Now we'll try it with you on your…stomach."

Sybil winced slightly. _Chest. Just say it. You're a nurse for heaven's sake, and you can't bring yourself to say the word chest to him. Even though I'm standing here, staring at his, rather boldly. ._

Her eyes few upward, trying to find his. Trying to look anywhere, but at that bare skin that was taunting her.

"It's hard to do it, at first, on your own. So you should –" her voice wavered. She glanced back up at the blue eyes that we watching her so closely. "You should – hang onto me – onto my hands."

She stretched her arms out at the level of the water, letting the two creamy limbs float on the water's surface. She watched, a pleased smile on her face, as Tom took both of her hands in his and grasped them, tightly.

Something still wasn't right, though. She tilted her head a little, her smile fading slightly as Tom began to rub the back of her hands with his thumbs.

_This should be enough to thrill me. Once upon a time it was….back before the war. To have him hold my hand was the most brilliant thing I could have imagined. But now it's not…it's not….enough._

_I wonder what that would feel like on the rest of my skin._

"Tom?" The question rushed out of her mouth.

He looked up at her, his expression a little uncertain.

She took a slightly shaky step towards him, and then another.

"Tom – not my hands. Hold on to –" _Courage, Sybil. Tell him. Do it. Ask him._

"To – to me," she whispered.

A look of adulteration passed over Tom's face. She watched, her breathing becoming a little more rapid, as his hands moved, slowly, over her wrists, then her elbows, to her upper arms, and finally to her nearly bare shoulders. His right thumb came out to trace her collarbone lightly, leaving behind a trail of tiny flames on her skin.

_Yes. This was much, much better indeed._


	4. Planning for a Short Journey

_I'm going to begin this chapter by apologizing, as it is not near as juicy as the last two. This is more of a set-up, if you will, because I want Tom and Sybil to do lots of things that just could not happen in Downton Village or Ripon. So, my solution is to get them out of Downton for a few days. And this explains how I intend to do it._

_A very big and special thanks to The Yankee Countess who has very generously agreed to let me borrow and fiddle with a couple of her characters, James and Susan Lawson. I'm sure that many of you are reading Love's Journey, and remember Susan as Sybil's roommate from York. I don't intend to do a whole lot with them in my writing, as they really aren't mine, but I did need an excuse, and they were the best one that I could imagine. If you've not checked out her writings, you must, as they are absolutely brilliant._

_I also need to say that I'm going to go a bit AU with this – as if I haven't, probably, already. After watching 3.07 this evening, I think I'm going to do a bit of a rewrite of a certain other Mr. Branson for my purposes. I suspect that many of you were equally disappointed in the long-awaited Kieran. Oy. Let's just say that in my little AU, one Branson boy will be nearly as handsome as the other. _

_As always, thank you so much for reading! And check back soon – I hope to have another chapter up by the end of the week._

* * *

"Milord? Mr. Carson said that you wished to speak with me." Tom stood tall in the library, his hands clasped behind his back, looking every inch the proper servant. His thoughts, however, would have hardly passed for appropriate.

_I wonder what he would do if he knew right now that I was trying to imagine him as my father-in-law. _

Tom was not entirely sure that he wanted to know the answer.

"Ah, yes, Branson. I wanted to speak to you about a journey that Lady Sybil intends to take."

Branson felt his skin go slightly cold. _A journey that Lady Sybil intends to take. Where? When? Have we spoken of this, and I've forgotten? She didn't tell him that she's going to-_

His Lordship turned more fully in his desk chair so that he was facing Tom directly. He placed the pen he had been holding onto the ledger before him.

"Lady Sybil has received an invitation to visit one of the nurses that she knew when she trained in York. A Mrs. Lawson, of Liverpool. I had originally intended that Lady Sybil should be accompanied by Lady Edith, and that they take the train there together. However it seems that Lady Sybil and Lady Edith cannot be gone from their work with the soldiers at the same time. Mr. Carson tells me that you have been to Liverpool before, and that you have a brother living there. I wonder if you might consider driving Lady Sybil to Liverpool for a few days time, with the understanding that you would be able to visit your brother during your stay there."

Tom could feel his eyes widen slightly. His Lordship was asking him to take Sybil away? To accompany her on a journey, alone?

_He truly has no idea that…_

"Branson?"

"Yes, milord. I would be pleased to take Lady Sybil to Liverpool, if you wish." He hoped desperately that the expression on his face was not too pleased. _Take Lady Sybil to Liverpool…alone. Just the two of…_

"Very good." His eyes narrowing slightly, Lord Grantham rose from his chair and walked towards one of the large library windows. After a moment he turned to face Tom again.

"It is very important to me that Lady Sybil remain safe during her journey. I know that it has been many years since the…incident…that occurred when she attended the count in Ripon. I cannot say that I have ever truly understood what happened that day, and who was at fault for her injury." Here he paused, giving Tom an intense look. "As she is most insistent upon making this journey, and as you are the only member of the staff that can be spared to accompany her, I have decided to allow this rather unorthodox situation. I must emphasize, though, that if _anything_ should happen to Lady Sybil when she is under your protection, I will not hesitate to arrange your passage on the next boat back to Ireland. Do I make myself clear?"

_And if I take her back to Ireland with me? Will you offer to pay for her ticket too? _The thought crossed Tom's mind before he could stop it.

"Yes, milord. I understand."

"You will leave next Monday, then. You may go now."

"Thank you milord." Tom doffed his head slightly and turned towards the door. His steps were a bit faster than normal as he walked out of the library.

_Next Monday. Next Monday I'm taking Lady Sybil to Liverpool. On our own. At his Lordship's command. _A sly smile began to cross his lips as he crossed into the servants' quarters. _If he only knew what he was doing…._

* * *

He didn't see her alone again for another full day, when she came to ask if he could fetch her home from her night shift at the hospital.

He heard her stride on the gravel drive before she entered the garage. Checking quickly to be sure that Pratt was nowhere around, Tom wiped his hands on a rag from his workbench and turned to face the open doorway. Crossing his arms across his chest he leaned back on the bench as she stepped through the opening.

"Liverpool?"

Sybil blushed prettily. "I had intended to tell you. I had no idea, though, that Papa was going to ask you to take me."

"Who are you visiting?"

"A friend. Susan is her name. She was my roommate in York. She's since married and is expecting a child and asked me to come and stay with her for a few days, as she is no longer able to work. I've not seen her since we were at training together, and I thought it best to make the journey now, before the weather turns."

_And because I'm not entirely sure where I will be in another few months. If the war ends, if we were to…_

"And I get to take you?" His voice was low, a note of unbelief in it.

"Apparently so." She stepped over to the bench, in front of him. Reaching out a hand to rest on his crossed arms, she leaned a bit closer. "Do you mind?" she whispered.

A slow smile grew on his lips. "What do you think?"

"Well, if you're unable to find the time I suppose I could…" Spinning on her heel, she began to turn around. She'd only taken a step, though, when she felt her hand locked in his.

"I'd take you farther than Liverpool, if you'd let me."

Their eyes locked.

She shivered suddenly, her entire body trembling for a moment. _So that's where the ferry boats dock. I should have known._

"That's not why we're going, Tom."

He blinked at the movement, but didn't break the gaze.

"How long will we be gone?" His tone was even, measured. She was not sure what to think of it.

"We leave on Monday and return Thursday. It will take near a day to drive there and back, and then I'll have two days with Susan and James."

"And with me?"

An expression that he couldn't quite read washed over her face. "With you? What are you proposing?"

She hated herself the moment the word slipped from her mouth. _What are you proposing? Brilliant, Sybil, brilliant._

Tom flinched ever so slightly. "Will you have any time to spend with me, while we're there?"

_This is a test._ She knew it the moment he uttered the sentence. _To see if I mean it, or if I'm just willing to play at being together here, in stolen moments._

_And hours._

_And afternoons._

She almost groaned out loud. She knew in an instant that she was done for. There was no way she could refuse him, lately, it seemed.

She allowed a smile to creep onto her lips. Pausing, turning her lips in ever so slightly so she can lick them, she gave him a smoldering gaze.

"I suppose I might be able to find some time for you, to thank you for your services in driving me to Liverpool."

He smirked and pulled on her hand, bringing her closer.

"Will you take me swimming at the docks?"

She closed her eyes, laughter bubbling up in her chest.

"Perhaps. Or I was thinking that you might take me for fish and chips, one night."

This time he was the one who laughed. "Would you like that?" he replied, bringing her hand up to his lips.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him kiss it slowly, reverently, his eyes closing when his lips tasted skin.

_Oh my God. To be able to feel his lips on my skin elsewhere, like his hands were at the lake…._

Sybil shifted slightly, her body starting to warm from the inside out. She was staring at his lips now, her own parting slightly.

_I wonder if he'll ever kiss me. I wonder what he'll taste like, when he does. I wonder how his lips will feel, when they're on my lips, my face, my neck._

In another moment Tom's eyes opened. An amused look crept into them when he read the expression on her face. Bringing her hand down from his lips, he reached to grab the other. He held them both tightly, bringing them to his sides, pulling her a bit closer still.

"I know it's only four days, but when we're in Liverpool, may I court you properly?"

_May I court you properly. _"Yes," she whispered quickly. _That sounds nice._

"Can I take you out in the evening, just the two of us? I'll not bother you during the day, as you'll be with Susan, but may I take you out to a pub, or to a picture show?"

"I've never seen a picture show."

Tom shook his head slightly. _How sheltered she is. Even Daisy's been to the pictures, I wager._

"We'll sit in the back, where no one will see if I put my arm around you."

Sybil blushed and giggled.

"May I – when we're there – may I do things like that? Hold your hand in the street, where anyone can see? Put my arm around you in the theatre?" He asked the question quietly.

"Yes. I – I'd like that." Sybil paused. "Tom – I – I'm sorry. That you can't do those things here. That we have to hide, like this, in the garage. Or back on the grounds. I realize it must be tough for you to see me every day – or nearly – and not be able to say anything or do anything. Because of – who I am."

Tom shrugged his shoulders.

"I know. But it must be hard for you. You have such strong feelings about class and position – as I do – but it is rather cruel that you can't even speak to me, or initiate a conversation, when anyone else is within hearing. Simply because of the families into which we were born."

"Sometimes – sometimes I wish we were just two normal people, far away from here, able to do what we wished – go to the picture, have dinner in a pub, take a walk after dinner –"

He rubbed the back of her hands with his thumbs. Exhaling, he gave Sybil a slightly exasperated look. "We could do all of those things in Dublin."

Her response what not what he was expecting.

"You probably _have_ done all of those things in Dublin. Before you came – with other women."

It was a question, not a statement.

_And how the hell am I supposed to respond to that?_ Tom was silent for a moment. _How much does she want me to say?_

He dropped one of her hands and brought his own up to her face. Her chin was pointed down, her eyes on his chest, not quite able to look up. Reaching a finger under it, he tipped it up, so that she was looking at him again. His thumb caressed it the soft skin there, just under her bottom lip.

"There were – other women – as you say, in Ireland. I did court some women – girls – when I was there. Nothing serious, though. When I left, none of them had any claim to me."

"And in England?"

"I've only been at the two places in England. There was no one at the first house that caught my eye. Though there rather was at the second." He smiled lazily, his eyes drifting to her lips.

Sybil, though, was not done. "And when you would take them out, where would you go? What would you do?"

_How much, exactly, do you want to know? _Tom's mind clouded slightly. There were some memories best left unspoken.

"To dances. Church socials, sometimes. Birthday suppers, a walk to the docks."

"Did you ever love any of them?"

Sybil felt like a fool the moment the words left her lips. This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. She knew that she should not be prying into his life before he came to Downton. In fact she wasn't sure, honestly, if she wanted to know exactly what he did, who he loved. Sometimes it was just easier to always imagine them here, in a vacuum of space and time. _But if we ever go to Ireland, I will want to know then. What his life was like before he left. If there are any old sweethearts there, who might still carry a flame._

"No." Tom's one word answer was quiet and firm. "No. I've only loved one woman in my life."

Sybil wasn't sure if the answer made her feel better or worse. _'I've only loved one woman in my life.' Yes – the one woman that you aren't supposed to have._

"Do you ever wish that you'd not met me?" She asked the question softly, not sure of her motives. "That there were just two daughters of the Earl of Grantham?"

Tom gave her an exasperated look. "Would I still be here if I felt that way? I will never regret meeting you. Never – to the last day that I live."

Sybil smiled, a slightly amused expression coming over her face. "Some times I wonder if I'm more attractive to you because I am rather – forbidden."

The tension in the room suddenly broken, Tom laughed softly. "Perhaps. My own forbidden pleasure." Bringing her hand up her his mouth again, he kissed it again.

"You know, they do say that the forbidden fruit always tastes the best."


	5. Buns and Coffee

_Liverpool Part One. It's not very big – just 1,600 words or so. But this is how I'm thinking at the moment – one scene, one fic. Which means that there may be many, because the more I think about this 'little' four day trip, the more ideas pop into my brain. So consider yourself warned – Liverpool could be 10 chapters long – or more. And then there's what happens when they get back home…._

_So many ideas!_

_Thank you as always for shipping along! I love that so many people are as hungry for Sybil and Tom stories as ever. They're just so much fun to write – I feel like the characters write the chapters for me._

_Anyway – enjoy! Another dose coming soon._

"I'm ready."

Tom looked up from the headlight he'd been polishing. He'd been in the garage for nearly two hours already, unable to sleep from giddiness and nerves.

His eyes widened slightly as Sybil came to a stop in front of him. _She looks so – normal. _It was a compliment. He'd grown used to seeing her in her uniform, and on occasion, catching a glimpse of her in her beautiful evening gowns. But he'd never seen her like this before, in a plain dark skirt and simple white blouse. She looked like the wife of a working class man.

His face broke into a grin at the thought. "And a good morning to you."

She giggled softly. "Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

Sybil flushed slightly. It was a normal comment, she supposed, but it sounded so intimate, coming from Tom. "I suppose I did, once I fell asleep. That took a bit, though."

_Why are you telling him these thing? Just answer his question, Sybil. He doesn't need you to go on about how you were too excited to sleep hardly at all._

Tom laughed, a low sound that echoed in the garage. "I suppose I had the other end of the problem. I fell right to sleep, but awoke quite early. I've been out here for awhile."

_'I awoke early.' _She found herself trying to picture the scene in her mind. _I wonder what he looks like, when he wakes. Is he the sort who wakes up suddenly, ready to face the day? Or does he climb out of bed slowly to shuffle about his cottage in his pyjamas for a bit, until he's had his coffee?_

_Pyjamas. Tom. In. Pyjamas. Mmm. Or at least I assume he wears…_

"Coffee?" Sybil blurted, trying to stop her mind from the path it was headed down. "I mean, I have some coffee, and some buns," she nearly flinched at the word. "They're from Daisy." _Brilliant Sybil. Brilliant. _She continued to stumble along, sure her face was red. "She gave them to me, when I went to fetch the hamper that Mrs. Patmore prepared for us for luncheon." As if to prove her point, Sybil thrust the hamper towards Tom.

"Have you breakfasted yet?" Tom asked, reading out to take the hamper from her hand.

"No. Not really." _Slow down, you foolish girl!_ "Anna brought me some tea this morning, and I had a biscuit, but I didn't take the time to eat. I didn't want us to – that is – I wasn't terribly hungry."

"Would you mind if I had a bite before we get started? I had a cuppa a few hours ago, but it's worn off."

"A few hours ago? Good grief, Tom, what time did you wake up?"

_Pyjamas. _

_Waking up._

_Mmmm._

She seemed to be coming back to this image frequently.

Tom smiled a bit sheepishly. "Four? I told you I couldn't sleep properly."

"Will you be fit to drive?"

"I'll be fine. And besides, you can chatter with me and keep me company, since it will only be the two of us in the car."

_Only the two of us in the car. How many times have I had that same thought since Papa arranged for us to go._

"Will you join me?"

"Of course." Suddenly, Sybil was dying for a bun.

Tom placed the hamper on his workbench and watched as Sybil opened the lid, pulling out a napkin and spreading it on the flat surface. Next she pulled out some buns wrapped tightly in a cloth to keep them warm. They smelled of cinnamon and cloves.

"And here's the coffee." Tom extracted a thermos and reached to unscrew the lid.

"Is there a cup?" Sybil peered into the large hamper in the semi-darkness. "I bet she forgot to pack one. Normally when she fixes a hamper for me it's to take to the hospital, and they have china there that we use."

"Would you like me to fetch one from my cottage?" Tom placed the bun he was holding down on the napkin.

"No. It's fine. We can – we can – share the thermos. It can't hurt, can it?" Sybil knew she was blushing furiously now.

Tom said nothing, but smiled as he picked up the bun again and tore a small bite off to place in his mouth.

"Are they good?" Sybil asked, watching him eat rather intently.

Tom gave her a confused look. "Of course. But aren't most things that Mrs. Patmore and Daisy make?"

Sybil smiled. "I helped Daisy with the dough, last night, when I got home from the hospital. They're the sort that rise over night."

"You helped Daisy bake these?" Somehow she never failed to surprise him.

Sybil nodded, obviously pleased with herself. "Sometimes when I finish my shift after dinner, when everyone downstairs has gone up, I'll sneak down for another cooking lesson or two. She teaches me how to cook, and I'm teaching her some basic medical things. They're both useful things to know."

"Of course."

They both ate in silence for a moment, watching each other, exchanging little smiles. In a few moments Sybil reached for the thermos and took a deep drink. When she brought the vessel down from her lips she placed it in front of Tom.

"There's more than I will drink. Please."

Saying nothing, he swallowed his bite of bun and reached for the thermos and drank from it.

Just as he sat it down on the workbench he felt her hand at his face. "Here. You have –" Using the corner of her thumb, she wiped a tiny droplet of coffee from the edge of his lip. "That's better. I can't have you wearing your breakfast, now, when you're escorting me about Liverpool," she teased.

Tom shook his head. _When you escort me around Liverpool. Is this really happening?_

"Will you be able to have dinner with us tonight? I know you want to visit your brother, and I don't mean to keep you from him, but Susan did ask me rather specifically if you'd be able to dine with us this evening. I think she'd rather like to meet you."

"What exactly have you told her about me?"

Sybil arched an eyebrow at him. _If you only knew. _She thought back to the cloudy days of her training.

"Enough."

"Does she know that I'm your father's chauffeur?"

"Yes."

"Will that bother her, me eating with you?"

Sybil gave him a challenging look. "Should it?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Well, as I presume that you won't be asking me to feed you your entrée with my bare hands, I suspect we'll be fine."

Tom nearly choked on his bun. "That's not what I meant."

"Does she know you're my father's employee? Yes. But she also knows that we're friends."

_Friends. _He hated the word sometimes.

"You met her at York?"

"Yes."

_Oh. Shit. So she probably knows that about me too. _

"I've told her you're coming. I wrote her as soon as Papa asked you. She – she knows that you're my – friend – and will treat you as such." Her voice got a bit soft. "As she should."

_I'll be dining with her tonight, at a table, with her friends – a married couple. One couple sitting across the table from another._ Suddenly he found himself hoping that James and Susan furnished their table with benches instead of chairs.

"So – will you come?" The words were spoken softly, her tone intimate.

"It will be an honor." There was no cheek in his voice this time.

She stood still for a moment, forgetting to breathe.

_Tonight. Tonight we'll sit down at a dinner table together, with others, as equals. We'll be two people, side by side, sharing a dinner with friends._

The though made her a little light headed. Suddenly it seemed to her that this might be the most pleasant dinner of her life.

"I don't know what time she'll want to serve dinner. I'm sure, though, that if you wish, you can just stay at the house once we arrive, and then leave after dinner for your brother's."

_Brother? Oh, yeah. The other reason I'm going on this trip. Kieran. _

"You'll be able to bring in your things and change there, I'm sure."

Tom swallowed his last bite of bun. "Are you changing for dinner?"

Sybil shook her head as she went for another swallow of coffee. "No, I don't think they do. I meant change out of your livery. Unless you want to spend all day in it."

"Ah. Sorry, that was rather stupid of me. Yes, I did bring a suit."

_In which you will look rather handsome, I'm sure._

She was staring at him again and she knew it. "Are you finished?" she asked quickly, moving to tidy up the remnants of breakfast.

"Aye." Tom took a last draught out of the thermos and screwed the lid back on. Reaching for the hamper, he took it from Sybil and walked over the car where he placed it in the back seat.

"Milady?" He reached out a hand to her, smiling broadly.

Sybil laughed and shook her head. "For now. But when we get past Ripon, I'm coming up front with you."

Tom's mind flashed to some of the hairpin curves that he knew existed on the road past the city. _I wonder what she'll do if I take those a bit fast._

Taking his hand, she stood outside of the motor, not yet ducking her head to get inside. Instead she turned to face him, and with one hand, reached up to push back a bit of his fringe that had come loose.

"Thank you for doing this, Tom. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that we're going to Liverpool – together."

Her hand lingered on his face a moment more. And then slowly, deliberately, she stretched up ever so slightly and kissed him softly on the cheek.

_So! On to the journey and those hairpin curves. __ In the meantime, if you want to read another little story about Tom and Sybil sharing a small meal together that ends with a kiss, check out_ Just Like We're Playing House,_ a story that I set not long before Tom took her to York._


	6. Rules for Riding Up Front

_Liverpool, chapter three! A brief glimpse into their car ride._

_And before I let you begin, a note on the last chapter, titled Buns and Coffee. After reading the comments I've come to suspect that some of the intended double entendre there didn't translate from American English to British English. The turn bun is, for us, a slang term for bum. Just so you know._

_Anyway – I hope you all enjoy! Thank you for all of the kind comments – they are inspiring me to crank this out as fast as I can._

_Happy reading! And a very happy (Irish) Halloween to all the Branson Shippers out there!_

* * *

Never in her life had Sybil Crawley wanted to touch him more. Or at least that's how it seemed now, as she sat in the back seat of the motor, leaning slightly forward, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap.

It was his neck that was taunting her. The skin there, just above his collar. The light brown hair, cut short, teasing her eyes and fingers.

_I wonder if it's as soft as it looks._

The fingers on her right hand began to flex involuntarily and begin to lift from her lap. Her left hand, though, quickly caught them.

_We must get out of Ripon. There are too many people here who know Papa, who would recognize the motor. Too many people who might tell him, next time they meet, that they saw his daughter riding up front with the chauffeur._

_Bloody rules._

For a brief moment, Sybil found herself wishing that they had taken the train. Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine herself sitting next to Tom in an enclosed, private train compartment, his arm stealing around her, their bodies swaying together in time with the clacking of the wheels.

_Mmm._

Sybil's eyes flew open suddenly, her fantasy interrupted as she felt the motor come to a sudden stop.

"I'm sorry. Some idiot just pulled out in front of me." Tom turned his head to glance at Sybil quickly before returning his eyes to the road. "In just another minute we'll be out of this mess and out of Ripon."

_Which can't happen fast enough._

Sliding over slightly, Sybil let herself reach forward and grip the back of the front bench seat, her hands short inches from Tom's shoulders. It was his hands that she was starring at now, the strong fingers that gripped the steering wheel, guiding it left and right, smoothly, taking the motor through the city streets and, blessedly, out into the rolling hills of the countryside.

It was those same hands that had kept her awake half of the night. Ever since that day at the lake – _well, ever since the garden party, really – _she thought, a tiny pleased grin on her face – those hands had haunted her thoughts. Ever since she'd asked Tom – invited Tom – to touch her, to hold her….

_Mmmmmmm._

How many times had she replayed that moment in her mind? The feel of his hands on her bare arms, her shoulders, the trace of his touch on her collarbone, caressing the base of her neck?

Her eyes closed again now at the memory of it.

The trouble now was that once she'd felt his touch on her bare skin, she couldn't stop thinking about what his hands might feel like other places. On her back. Her stomach. The swell of her –

The car stopped again. Her eyes flew open, a little gasp flying from her lips.

"Are you ok?" Shifting the motor into park, Tom turned in his seat and grinned at her. "Did I interrupt something?"

"I'm fine." Sybil held his glance for a quick moment and then dropped her eyes, her face flushing a bright red.

Tom reached across the back seat of the front bench, bridging the gap between them. He traced a finger along her cheek, trailing down to cup her cheek, and then finally drawing up her chin so that she was facing him again.

_Those hands._

Her eyes came up to meet his, so deep a gray blue that Tom felt he might drown.

* * *

Tom watched her silently for a moment, trying to read her expression, wondering, for what seemed to be the thousandth time, what she was thinking behind her eyes.

He cradled her face gently, his thumb reaching out to caress the edge of her lips.

His mind rushed back to that morning, in the garage, when she'd kissed him on the cheek before climbing into the motor. The feel of her lips, however brief, on his skin. It had taken every ounce of self control that he had to not turn his mouth towards her, as she pulled away, and pull her in for a kiss right then and there.

But he didn't. Not because he didn't want to. _Good God, that's all I seem to want to do. Every day. And it has been – for years._

But he couldn't. Somehow it just seemed wrong to catch her unaware, there, in her father's garage. Not when he was wearing his chauffer's livery, which so clearly marked him out as a member of the staff, her father's employee. If they were caught, he'd be seen as the renegade bent on seducing the youngest daughter of the house.

_Not that the last bit is too far off. _

Tom smiled to himself.

The truth, if he was honest with himself, was that he wanted Sybil to be the one to do it. To kiss him. He knew it was terribly narcissistic. But he couldn't help it. He wanted her to take that step, the leap of faith, that such an action would require. He wanted her to make that decision. To step forward and place her lips on his, thereby answering every question that he'd ever asked her with one gesture.

Kisses were, after all, different in her world. They meant more. He'd begun kissing girls at – well – a rather young age. It was a game in the neighborhood where he grew up, stealing a kiss from a pretty girl. There had been many kisses over the years, most in fun, though as few were more serious. There had, after all, been a few girlfriends as he grew up, and as he learned more about relationships, he learned that he really, really liked to kiss.

But Sybil was different.

One didn't exactly just snatch a kiss from a Lady. Or at least one wasn't supposed to. He knew that she probably expected him to do it someday….and God knows that there had been plenty of times he'd wanted to. But somehow it just never seemed quite the right thing to do, the proper place, or the proper time.

_Or perhaps it's because I suspect that once I kiss her, I'll never be able to stop._

Sybil's voice brought him back to the present. "Shall I come up with you, then?"

"Do you think you can manage it, riding in the front with the chauffeur?" he teased her.

"Yes." In an instant she was out of the back seat, stepping down, walking around, very intentionally, to the front of the motor.

Her hand lingered on the handle of the door as she smiled at Tom, who was still sitting inside.

She turned her head to one side, the smile on her face blooming prettily.

"May I join you, sir?" she asked.

Tom leaned back in the seat slightly and laughed, one hand on the wheel of the motor, the other on the bench seat beside him.

_In a moment she's going to –_

_In another moment she'll be here –_

_Beside me._

_Next to me._

_Because that's where she wants to be._

Sybil turned the handle, the metal twisting under her touch. Placing a dainty foot on the running board, she stepped into the car.

Tom watched her, a bit spellbound, as always, by her every move.

_She's coming to me. _

_Sitting here, with me. _

_With me._

Sybil reached a hand down to gather her skirt inside the car. Assuring herself that it was secure, she reached to pull the door closed behind her.

A moment later she turned to face him, a bit breathless, the expression on her face nothing less than stunning.

"I've been waiting five years to do that, you know."

The hand on the seat reached to grasp hers.

It was resting on her leg, that dainty lady's hand, just above her knee. She watched him as he reached to take it within his own, his fingers brushing against her skirt.

"Now you know that there are rules for riding in the front of the motor," Tom began.

An eyebrow arched. "Well, as I'm not experienced in these things, you must teach me."

"The first rule," he paused, looking down at their hands. "The first rule is that you must never hold the chauffer's hand. He'll need both hands available at all times, of course, so he can control both the steering wheel and the gear shift."

"Ah, yes." She tightened her grip on his hand.

"The second is that you must never talk to the chauffeur while he is driving. His attention should always be on the road. He must not be distracted."

"No, I wouldn't dream of it," Sybil purred softly.

"And the third – " Tom paused, attempting for a dramatic effect "is that you must sit on the other side of the seat, as far from the chauffeur as possible, so you don't run the risk of jarring up against him during a sharp turn."

At this he gripped Sybil's hand tightly and began to pull her towards him. Her skirt slid smoothly on the leather seat, and in an instant she was next to him, her leg, her arm, her entire side, all pressed fully against his.

He moved then, ever so slightly in his seat, and she felt- _she felt – _the motion in her own body.

_Good God._

And then her hand was instinctively reaching down, settling on his thigh, as if it were the most natural action in the world.

For a brief moment Tom wondered if the wool of his livery might melt to his skin.

They were both quiet for a moment, reveling in the feel of each other, and Sybil turned to face Tom.

"There's only one problem." Her voice was quiet and low, with a hint of a tease in it.

"Which is?" Tom asked.

"You told me how I'm supposed to act when I sit up front with the chauffeur."

"Yes?"

"We're on our journey now, properly, so you're not my father's chauffeur." She spread her fingers apart so they covered a larger area on his leg.

Tom took a breath and shifted again. Suddenly his uniform felt rather right.

"Then who am I?"

Sybil looked back at Tom, her eyes intent, a beautiful smile on her face. "I thought you were my suitor, the man who intends to court me."

Tom grinned. "Indeed I am."

Then he did something that Sybil did not expect. Instead of moving closer to her, _(was that possible, she wondered?)_, he reached for the door handle and stepped out of the car. Raising finger to Sybil, his only explanation was one word – "wait."

He walked around to the back of the motor. She could hear him unbuckling one of the cases located there, and then she saw him disappear behind a thicket of trees. She waited, rather impatiently, for his return, suspecting strongly that she already knew what he was doing.

And in another moment her suspicions were confirmed. For before her stood a neatly dressed man, wearing a dated, though clean and neatly pressed, brown suit. All signs of his uniform were gone.

He stood in front of the open door of the motor, bowing slightly. "Tom Branson. The man who intends to win your heart."

Sybil grinned and reached for his hand, pulling him back inside, snug next to her. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Tom. I'm Sybil Crawley. The woman who wants to be won."

* * *

_Next up – Tom meets and dines with the Lawsons!_


	7. Dinner with a Side of Toes

_And now for dinner. Not that there will be much in this about eating. I will admit that it took me several attempts to come up with the proper idea for this one. At first everything was too sappy and angsty. Last night, though, this suddenly popped into my mind, and voila! _

_Forgive any lack of editing – I'm attempting to finish watching episode eight as I write this and have been editing during commercials. _

_Please let me know what you think! Enjoy!  
_

* * *

The first time she felt it, she was reaching for her wine glass. They'd been drinking a surprisingly good vintage of Cabaret that evening, a gift to James from a shipping customer that they'd been saving for a "special occasion", as Susan had happily told them earlier. "And having you two with us is certainly a very special occasion."

Sybil had smiled when she'd said it, and she was sure that Tom had too. He'd been standing behind her at the time, as they watched Susan prepare the table, Sybil offering to help, feeling slightly helpless that Susan, though several months pregnant and obviously a bit tired, would not let her do anything.

"I didn't invite you to come all the way here just to wait on me!" Susan had said earlier to Sybil's entreaties.

They'd arrived in the middle of the afternoon, after having stopped for a rather long and enjoyable picnic lunch sometime around noon. They'd dawdled there at least an hour, enjoying the late fall sunshine, Sybil relishing being able to sit on a blanket on the ground and picnic like a _normal person_. Most of the picnics she'd been on had involved tables, cutlery, glass, and a full coterie of servants. This time it was just her and Tom, sipping wine, eating bread and cheese and some sort of sausages, _just like two peasants,_ she imagined her grandmother saying.

Arriving at the Lawsons house was another pleasant memory. Though Sybil would have never had admitted it to anyone, she was a bit nervous about this entire visit. She was not sure what to expect from James, who she had never met, and even Susan, who had changed so since they were in nurses' training together. She was a wife now, the mistress of her own home, and soon to be a mother. Sybil felt rather a child next to her.

When they'd pulled up in front of the Lawson's small home Sybil could feel her stomach churning a bit, and she turned a nervous face to Tom in the motor. "Please. I know it's probably more awkward for you than me, as you don't even know them. But please – don't leave until after dinner. I want you – I want you to be here – with me." Tom had squeezed her hand and promised to stay, though she suspected that he might be slightly amused at her sudden case of nerves.

All of that had faded, though, as soon as Susan opened the door to welcome them inside. Sybil was standing in the small doorway, one hand wrapped around the handle of her valise, which she had insisted on carrying herself, the other behind her back, grasping Tom's hand tightly.

Susan cried out the moment she saw Sybil, enfolding her in an embrace and kissing her cheek warmly. She'd also reached out a warm hand to greet Tom, who Sybil introduced with great pride "This is Tom Branson – who I've told you so much about" her smile almost as broad as Tom's, who found himself wondering again _what exactly she had told Susan_ over the last two years.

Once they'd settled inside Susan had produced a lovely tea, over which they lingered while the roast for dinner cooked. James had returned home sometime around six p.m., and then there were more introduction, and Susan had scurried off to the kitchen to finish dinner. They'd finally sat down around the dinner table around half past seven, dishes full of roasted beef, potatoes, vegetables, fresh bread, and butter on the table.

The first time Sybil felt the gentle nudge under the table, she thought that someone, perhaps, Susan, had just bumped her foot accidentally. Such things could happen under a small table, Sybil expected. Yet when she's looked up to Susan to check her face for an apology or a blush or even just an acknowledgment of the bump, she'd seen nothing unusual. Instead, Susan was engaged with James in conversation about his family, explaining something that his sister, who was also very interested in female suffrage, had said after attending the latest march in Liverpool.

The second nudge came a few minutes later, when Sybil had her fork about halfway to her mouth. She tried her best to ignore it, putting her fork in her mouth and chewing as though nothing was happening, though something most decidedly had. It felt slightly like a toe caressing over the top of her foot, running slowly across the full width of it.

As soon as she swallowed her food she reached for her wine glass, taking a deep draught and hiding her face half behind the glass as she turned to look at Tom over its rim. He returned her look calmly, no hint of a smile on his face, though the gaze in his eyes might have been described as a bit too innocent to be believable.

_Innocent. Not generally a word I associate with him. _Sybil's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but then quickly opened again. _I will not let him get the best of me. I have been learning to play the game of being cool and aloof my entire life. I will not let him best me._

The third time she felt something, which she had now fully decided was indeed Tom's foot – there was no one else who it could be, as he was the only person with the ability to direct a foot at hers from the left – it suddenly occurred to her that the foot she was feeling run over hers was indeed clad only in a thin sock. Nodding absently to something that Susan had just said, Sybil tried desperately to remember what sort of shoes he'd been wearing earlier. She tried to picture them, lounging about on the blanket in some farmer's green field, where they'd had lunch. _Now what type of shoe had he been wearing? A tie shoe? Something that slipped on, a loafer? No – certainly not. Wait – didn't he wear some sort of boot with his uniform? Did they close with buttons? Or at least they would lace up quite high, yes? How in heaven's name did he manage to get them off under the table with no hint whatsoever as to what was happening?_

Sybil's mind continued down this logical path a step further.

_Which means that he must have quite the talent for removing articles of clothing. _

The thought caused Sybil's face to suddenly flood quite red, despite her well placed efforts to keep a calm mask over her features. Reaching for a roll and tearing at it hastily, she tried to cough, hoping that someone would think she had just taken a bite and was now choking on it.

The façade obviously worked on Susan, who turned a concerned face towards her friend. Ever the nurse, she began asking Sybil if she was ok, if she needed help. "Drink some wine. That will help it pass. Or there's water in the kitchen, if you prefer. Shall I bring you some?"

Sybil shook her head. No. She was fine, really. She just needed a moment to calm her throat.

After a few moments the table members resumed their conversation and eating, everyone satisfied that Sybil was indeed ok. They had almost made it to the end of the main course when she sensed the foot moving her way again.

Shooting Tom a dark look as Susan turned to say something to James, Sybil shifted her body slightly.

_If I change the way I'm sitting, maybe he'll not be able to…._

Turning to face James more, Sybil moved to cross her ankles under the table, drawing one foot in front of the other. _If the sole of my shoe is pointed toward him, there's nothing he can do to –_

Thud.

Sybil was sure that no one else heard the sound. And perhaps she truly didn't hear it – she just felt it. The feel of her shoe, once securely on her foot, dropping suddenly off of it.

Cool air washed over the sole of her foot. And for a moment, it was there, simply, by itself.

Reacting to its newfound freedom quite independently of Sybil's mind, the foot curled slightly, her toes flexing.

Before she could move it far enough, though, to redress it in her shoe, she felt a toe behind her toes. And then slowly, languidly, the toe began to run up the back of her foot, sliding deep into her arch and then back up her heel. Instead of stopping there, though, the toe continued over the bump of her heel, and then across her ankle and to the base of her leg.

She thought she felt a hesitation then, just as Susan stood next to her to collect her plate. "Thank you," she managed to say, almost normally.

Susan, too pleased at the success thus far of her dinner to notice anything unusual, smiled and turned to walk from Sybil's place to Tom's.

"A most excellent meal, Mrs. Lawson. Your husband is a man to be envied."

_A most excellent meal. _Sybil stiffened slightly. _I wonder if there will ever be a day that someone – alright, Tom – will say those words about a meal that I cook._

As James and Susan moved to carry their plates and the other foodstuffs to the kitchen, Sybil turned to shoot Tom a somewhat disgusted look.

He replied, of course, by smiling cheekily.

And in a moment, despite her best attempts, a smile was teasing at the corners of Sybil's mouth.

Meantime, the toe was back moving again, this time, ever so slowly, up the back of her calf.

"Oh!" Sybil cried out.

As luck would have it, at that very moment Susan stepped into the dining room, carrying a flaming pudding.

"I know it's tradition to serve such a pudding only at the holidays, but I remember you telling me in school that it was your favorite when we were in training, eating all of that awful food from the school kitchens. I thought I'd make one for you tonight, to celebrate your coming."

Sybil hoped that her smile was convincing. "It looks lovely!"

_Saved. My God, when I get him alone later after dinner the things I will say to him…._

"Will you do the honors?"

Susan handed Sybil the pudding knife and server. "Of course."

A pleased smiled on her face, masking her gritted teeth, Sybil patted the flames out, her eyes meeting Tom's as she struck at the pudding.

"My! You do that with such enthusiasm! Must be you pat out the pudding every year at Christmas." Susan was watching Sybil now quite closely.

"My grandmother normally does, but I've always wanted to have a go at it. I really can't cut, though. You must."

_Because I'm not sure I can trust myself with a knife at this very moment. If Susan put her hand anywhere near the knife one sudden movement from me and she might lose a finger._

The toes were running along the top of the back of her calf now, in the hollow behind her knee.

"Mmm." A sound escaped Sybil's lips. Forcing her eyes to stay on the pudding, she attempted the save. "Mm. This really is quite delicious. I mean, it will be quite delicious."

"Yes, I can't wait to have mine."

The voice was Tom's. Taking a rather large bite of pudding onto her fork, Sybil turned to face him, her fork right in front of her mouth.

"Yes. I'm sure you can't."

Shaking her leg under the table suddenly, she dislodged the toes from their hold.

She slipped the pudding into her mouth, a very satisfied expression hovering on her lips.

_Time. Time. Be patient, Sybil. Just a moment…_

Satisfied now that Tom's foot could not be too far away, she reached for her wine glass and took a deep swallow.

She turned to smile at Tom.

_Ah. There is it._

In that moment a set of small, white stocking clad toes found his ankle and began to run up under his pant leg.

Turning to smile at her dinner companion pleasantly, she attempted an innocent expression.

"Isn't this excellent, Tom?"

Slightly wide blue eyes returned her gaze.

"Absolutely."

* * *

_Who knew that toes could be so sexy?_


	8. Dutch (Irish) Courage

_On to the pub! This is going to go a little tiny bit AU here, though it pretty much fits into Season Two. Just pretend, for those of you who've seen Season Three, that you don't know what Kieran looks like. Imagine for yourself a second Branson boy who is nicer than the Kieran we saw on the show, as well as being slightly taller and slightly darker than his dear brother, Tom._

_Sigh._

_Ok, now stop salivating! You'll short out your computer!_

_Ok. Now that you've recovered and are simply panting now instead, here's the other thing I should tell you. The night is still young. You may interpret that as you wish….and you'll hear a little bit more about what happens in the next chapter, whenever that surfaces. (Sometime in the next few days, I hope.)_

_Incidentally, I'm not responsible for what you do or think the next time you see a handsome man in a necktie.  
_

* * *

Sybil reached up a hand to tuck back an errant curl. She and Susan had done their best with her hair, but neither of them had one tenth of Anna's talent for creating elegant styles. _I suppose this will have to do, _she thought.

Her gaze lingered as she examined herself yet again in the mirror. How many times had she done this in the last hour? How many times had she examined her hair, her light makeup, her simple jewelry, wondering if Tom would like it? How many times had she stood there, gazing at herself, wondering if the girl before her was ready for her evening to begin?

_I'm more nervous tonight, I think, than I've ever been._

A smile played on her lips. _Even more nervous than at my presentation, I think._

Her mind flashed back to the heady moments she'd enjoyed when she was presented to the queen at court. Yes, that had been an incredible, special evening.

_But nothing like this._

_This night – tonight, and tomorrow night – may have more bearing on the rest of my life than anything else I've ever done. Anything. Tonight I might just decide if –_

Knock knock. The sound of Tom's knuckles resonated on the wooden front door.

Sybil turned a nervous face from the hall mirror towards the kitchen. "Susan?"

"I'm right here." Scurrying out the kitchen as fast as her rather pregnant body would let her, Susan came to stand beside Sybil. Reaching an arm around her, she squeezed her affectionately. "You look lovely, Syb. Absolutely lovely. He'll be the proudest man in England."

Sybil grinned. "I hope so."

"Now you go into the front room and I'll get the door."

Sybil nodded and walked quickly into the parlor. Too nervous to sit, she began pacing around the small parlor table in the middle of the room.

They'd worked this all out, her and Susan, over breakfast that morning. Half of their day had been spent strategizing for Sybil's evening out – which dress she should wear tonight, and which to save for tomorrow, how to style her hair, if Tom might prefer the gold or the silver ear bobs. A part of Sybil knew that it was all silly, that Tom wouldn't care if she wore a burlap bag. But she wanted to make an effort for him, to prove to him that while he might not be the sort of man her family wanted for her, she still thought he deserved the best.

"Good evening Mr. Branson." She heard the door squeak on its hinges as Susan opened it to let Tom enter.

"Good evening, Mrs. Lawson."

Sybil pressed her hands together, her fingertips gripping tightly into the back of the opposite hands. _In just a moment he's going to - _

"I've come for Miss Crawley, if she's ready."

_Miss Crawley. _She wasn't sure if she'd ever been called that before. It had a pleasant ring to it.

She heard his footsteps on the wooden floor. As he stepped into the doorway of the parlor Sybil found herself briefly examining his shoes, thinking back to the dinner they'd shared the night before with James and Susan.

_Even his feet are oddly attractive…_

Sybil smiled at her own absurdity. As her eyes skimmed up Tom's body, though, she felt as though she had momentarily forgotten to breathe.

He was wearing the same suit he'd worn the night before – _I wonder if it's the only one he has - _she thought vaguely. It fit him well, though, and she couldn't help admiring how he looked in it, so different from his livery.

It was what he held in his hand, though, that caused her to step forward suddenly towards him, forgetting her nerves, briefly, at the sight of his thoughtfulness.

"They're beautiful, Tom. Thank you ever so much."

He grinned a bit nervously at her, suddenly feeling like he was a lad of fifteen again. Not entirely sure what to say, ridiculous lines about flowers and beauty falling flat on his tongue, he handed her the small bundle of three red roses, wrapped in snowy white paper.

"May I – can I wear them tonight?" Sybil reached to fold back the paper.

"If you like."

"I would." Turning to smile at him once more, she turned to go into the kitchen.

They entered the room just as a startled Susan hurried out the back door, intent on giving them the privacy that she knew they would want. Releasing the roses from the paper, Sybil reached for a small paring knife and swiftly cut the stems until they were just a few short inches in length.

Tom arched an eyebrow, clearly a bit confused at her intent.

"Come with me." Reaching out her other hand for his, Sybil led Tom back to the front hall again and before the small mirror. "I want to tuck them in here, in my hair. I've always thought that girls looked so lovely with flowers in their hair, but Granny always scolded us that it was too middle class." Rolling her eyes slightly, Sybil reached up to tuck one of the buds in the right side of her bun.

"And that one there…" she was muttering to herself now as she placed the second. Upon catching herself, though, she glanced up to catch Tom's eyes in the mirror. "Sorry. I rather talk to myself sometimes."

Tom chuckled quietly. "Do you ever discuss anything I might be interested in hearing?"

Sybil grinned, a mischievous look lighting on her face. "Wouldn't you like to know, Mr. Branson?" she teased quietly.

He smiled but did not reply.

Watching his reflection still, a light suddenly dawned in her eye. Toying with the third rose slightly, spinning it between her fingers, she held it up next to her shoulder.

"I think I shall need your help with this one, if you please."

Tom hesitated just a moment, and then reached out to take the flower from her hands, letting his fingers slide over hers. Taking it from her hand, he brought it up to his nose for a moment, breathing in the scent.

"Where would you like it?" he asked, his voice jut above a whisper.

"That's your decision." There was something teasing in her tone, as though she were slightly daring him.

"Right here, then." Tom tucked the rose just beneath a brown curl that was coming loose from her bun, right near the soft skin of her neck. As he slid it in place he felt her skin under his hands and, unable to pull away, turned his palm slightly so that his finger tips could caress it.

He felt Sybil tense slightly at his initial touch, and then relax as she exhaled deeply. His finger lingered there still as his left hand came up to settle at her waist.

She smiled at him in the mirror, her expression one of pure satisfaction. He stepped forward automatically, closing the space between then until she was leaning back against him, their bodies melting together.

"Tom," she said softly, touching her forehead against his cheek. "We should go."

"We should." Blue eyes smiled, but he didn't move.

"Tom." Forcing herself to step forward and pull away from the Tom's body, she turned to face him. Instinctively her hands reached out, though, as though her body couldn't bear to not be touching his, and suddenly they were on his chest, snaking up slowly, causing him to breathe in rather quickly.

"Sybil –"

Smiling seductively, she raised an eyebrow and reached for his tie, giving it a slight tug.

"Come on. We have a date."

* * *

Another hour found the two in a moderately sized public house in an area of Liverpool inhabited by a large number of Irish families.

Looking up from the glass on the table in front of her to the smiling blue eyes gazing at her steadily, Sybil arched an eyebrow delicately. "Now tell me the proper way to drink this?"

Tom gave her a confused look. "With your mouth? You open your lips and pour the liquid in….?" There was a heavy layer of sarcasm in his tone.

"No, that's not what I mean. I know how to drink, you git." At this they both laughed. "But that's how you're supposed to do this, yes? You don't sip whiskey, right? Aren't the Irish supposed to shoot it?"

Tom snorted. _If her family could only see her now._

Placing his arms on the table, Tom clasped his hands together and worried his fingers. "That depends on who you ask." Ignoring the bit about the Irish, Tom tried to play innocent. "Your father drinks whiskey, I'm sure. I have to imagine that he probably doesn't shoot it."

_If he ever finds out about this he will._ Sybil shook her head slightly to dispel the idea, though she did find the picture rather funny, her father tipping back large amounts of alcohol, one shot after another.

"And how often do I follow my father's example, though?" she challenged.

"Point taken. But it's still perfectly accepted to sip your whiskey, even if you're not an Earl."

"Is that how you do it?" Sybil nodded to the glass sitting in front of Tom, thus far untouched.

"That depends." Tom cocked his head to the side slightly.

"On what?"

"On whether or not I'm with a pretty girl who dares me to shoot it."

"Oh really? And does this happen to you often?" She was teasing.

Tom grinned back. "Not as often as I'd like." He picked up the glass, swirling the liquid in it. "I'll shoot mine if you'll shoot yours."

Sybil swallowed and looked at her glass, and then back at Tom.

"Alright. But you have to go first, so I can see how it's done."

Tom laughed. "You say like that there's some great technique. You just drop your head back and pour it all down in one gulp."

"Show me."

Sybil's hands reached for her glass. Spinning it slowly in her hands, she watched as Tom picked up his, and, making a rather dramatic face, brought the glass up to his mouth. Tipping back his head, he shot the amber liquid down.

Placing the glass back on the table, he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "There."

"Interesting." Sybil eyed her glass again. "So you just tip it up and pour? Do you even taste it that way?"

"You will."

She gave him a slightly incredulous look. "Alright…"

Tom tipped his head to the side slightly. "Is the brave Miss. Sybil Crawley afraid that she'll not be able to -"

That was enough to do it. Tipping her head back, she slammed the shot down quickly. _Don't ever tell me I can't –_

"Holy shit!" she cursed, a cough rising up in her chest. A hand reached the base of her throat. Her eyes closed momentarily, the lids pressed tightly together.

It took a moment before she could open them again. When she did, she found herself staring at an Irishman who was shaking in silent laughter.

"Oh, go on. Just because you've done this before…. Anyway, aren't you supposed to be teaching me about the finer things in life? You didn't prepare me very well for that one."

"I take it that means that you're giving up, then? Shall I order you a glass of white wine then, for the next round, milady?" He dropped her title mockingly.

Sybil sniffed disgustedly. "White wine? Do you really think that's the best I can do?"

"So you're ready for another, then."

"Of course." Turning up her aristocratic nose ever so slightly, Sybil attempted to look composed, despite the fact that the toes on her right feet were suddenly itching to lose their shoe and enter round two of last night's entertainment. In fact her entire body seemed to be itching to touch him. _Damn table. _Attempting to channel her frustration into arrogance, she then bluntly surged forward. "I can do anything you can do."

This time the laugh was hearty and hale. "Is that a challenge or a promise?"

"A promise."

"Oh really." Tom crossed his arms over his chest, obviously enjoying this way too much. "You're going to drink me under the table, you think?"

"If you remember correctly, I have several wines _every night _with my dinner. I can hold my alcohol just fine, thank you very much."

"And do you drink those glasses of wine straight down, every last drop? From what I've heard most of you barely touch them."

"Excuse me!" Sybil lifted her hand to the pub waitress that was just passing their table. "Can we have another round of whiskies, please?"

"Right away, mum," the girl nodded, trotting off in the direction of the bar.

"So do you really believe that you can do anything that I can do?" Tom was leaning forward now, across the table.

"Do you think I can't?"

"I don't know. I don't generally bet against you, but I'm pretty sure that there are some things that I've done that you can't."

_Good grief, it's fun to goad her. _Tom was enjoying this way too much.

"Like what?" She was trying to sound edgy, but it came out much more flirtatious. "Name one."

She was leaning forward now too, her hands inching across the table, eager to be within his reach. _Hold them hold them hold them!_

Tom shrugged nonchalantly. "Can you tie a necktie?"

Sybil pressed her lips together prettily. "Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Well?"

"Have you seen some of the things I've worn?"

Tom's mind flashed back to the harem pants. _ I wonder if she still has those, and would ever consider wearing them again for…_

"Yes, but you have Anna to help you. The rest of us have to dress ourselves, you know."

_Dress ourselves. _A vision of Tom rather undressed flashed before Sybil's eyes._ Dress you. Yes, I suspect I would rather be better at the opposite process if you were standing before me and I had the option._

"Would you like some help, then?" Cooing sweetly, Sybil slid out of the bench seat she'd been occupying and stood, coming around to Tom's side. Sliding into the seat next to him, she reached for his tie for the second time that night.

Pulling it out of his vest, she ran her fingers down it, and then back up it slowly, suggestively. When she was brave enough to look from it up to Tom's face, she could tell that he was having to work very hard to keep his composure, his eyes following the up and down sliding motion of her hands with rapt attention.

_I wonder whatever he could be thinking of?_ Sybil grinned, shocking herself slightly at her cheek.

Reaching up to the knot at his collar, she tugged on it slightly. "Am I allowed to unknot this, or is it that considered cheating?"

Tom swallowed hard, her fingers just on the edge of his line of sight. "Whatever you wish."

Moving her hand away from the roughly woven tie ever so slightly, she let a solitary finger reach up and tease the skin at his neck, her finger nail running lightly over his skin. He sucked in his breath. _God she's good at this,_ he thought, wondering what other hidden talents she might have.

She tugged on the tie lightly, teasing him, pulling him forward so he was leaning towards her a bit. Hooking a finger into the knot, she pulled on it again, the tie falling loose into her hand a moment later.

"Now –" she paused, holding it up a bit like a trophy. "To put this back on you…."

_You really don't have to. You can keep going, if you wish. I really wouldn't mind... _Tom was having a really difficult time controlling the thoughts floating through his brain. _It really would be no inconvenience on my part…._

She leaned forward slightly, her concentration centered somewhere around Tom's throat. Her hands shook ever so slightly, once, but they were both so intent on their closeness, their legs pressing full against the others as they sat, half turned towards one another in the semi-private bench, that it hardly mattered.

She fussed and pulled, twisted and looped, failing the first time, but hurriedly trying again, hoping that Tom didn't notice. _It's much too early in the evening to lose already_, she thought to herself. _Then again, though, I'm not sure if having to sit here and trying again might not be so bad either…._

"There!" There was a knot, if a somewhat crooked one, again in Tom's tie. He reached up to feel it, his hand examining her work.

"And a drink to celebrate!" Sybil turned to face the waitress as she placed their glasses on the table. Placing one before Tom, and picking up her own, she raised it high. "To equality!"

Tom tipped his in her direction to clink them together. "To rearranging clothing!"

"Tom!" Sybil gasped, and then began to laugh a bit loudly. Having no idea what else to say, she raised her glass and tipped back her head, wondering how soon she would start to feel this one.

* * *

Sometime a bit later, after their third round of whiskey, one arm wrestling match (that Tom let Sybil win), and a long and animated discussion about whether or not the Bolsheviks would support women working outside of the home (which managed to involve a great deal of hand holding and discrete cuddling), Tom and Sybil finally emerged from their cozy booth. A small band of musicians had entered the room a few minutes before, and were now done setting up, their instruments in their hands and ready to go.

"Will you dance with me?" Tom had asked her a few moments earlier, when they were still tucked in their corner booth.

Her head a little bit closer to Tom's than normal, Sybil giggled. "Of course. It sounds wonderful."

"Wonderful? You seem to be finding many things to be wonderful tonight. The last round of whiskey was wonderful, beating me at arm wrestling was wonderful," he teased.

Sybil reached out a hand and put it against her chest. "You're wonderful," she whispered, and then giggled again.

Tom rolled his eyes but grinned. "You're pretty wonderful yourself, you know." He reached out a finger to brush against her cheek.

"Will you join me for a wonderful dance?"

Sybil nodded, but didn't quite think to move.

Tom smirked. "That means we'll have to get up from the wonderful bench."

Sybil blushed, yet she still waited a long moment before sliding off.

The band was already playing a lively tune by the time Tom and Sybil stood. "Come here," Tom commanded, taking Sybil hand in his own and grasping her waist in his other hand.

She breathed in quickly. _How does his hand do that to me? Just his hand?_

Sybil Crawley had danced with many men her first season in London. Old, young, handsome, and plain. But no one had ever held her like this, his hands grasping tight, his body brushing against her curves, his breath warm on her face. She closed her eyes for a moment, drinking in the feel of being _this close._ She felt like Tom was somehow possessing her, right there, in the middle of a crowded room of people.

"Excuse me!" she heard someone call out as they pushed past him. Tom bumped forward, his entire body now pressed up against hers. _I can't even look at him, like this._ _My God…._ Leaning forward, letting herself enjoy the feel of his hard body next to hers, Sybil closed her eyes. In a moment her cheek found his chin, the bare skin there warm.

"Are you ready?" Tom whispered in her ear, his breath making the curls that had broken free from her bun flutter slightly.

Tightening her hold on him, Sybil nodded, knowing he would feel it. The noise level in the room was swelling quickly, as though the music were a train gaining speed, thrusting forward.

With a nod Tom turned them and stepped into the fray of dancers who were swinging around the room to a cheery Irish tune. Sybil tried at first to keep up, thinking about the steps and where her feet should be going next, but soon found that it was easier to dance if she simply ceased to think and let herself go, trusting her feet and Tom to keep her moving about the floor in time.

The dance was a fast one, and Sybil could feel nearly every move that Tom was making. His legs, his chest, his arms all touching her, moving with her. _It's almost like we're one person, moving together to some unspoken rhythm._ Sybil knew she should be blushing, embarrassed at their closeness, but all she could do was grin madly over Tom's shoulder and hang on to him as tight as she could.

Neither loosened their grip until the song ended. Both stepped back instinctively a bit then, though their hands did not leave the other.

"Was that wonderful too?" Tom teased.

Sybil nodded enthusiastically. "I'm sorry I didn't follow your lead well at first! I've never danced like that before!"

"I didn't think you'd follow the lead of any man," he quipped quickly.

Sybil grinned. Breaking her gaze on his eyes a moment, she noticed that his brow was wet. "You're sweating!"

Tom reached up to wipe his hand across his forehead. "It's warm in here, all these people."

"You should take your coat off." Sybil's hands were already on his lapels, starting to push them back.

Tom grinned as she continued to remove it from him, her hands lingering over his chest. "If that's what you want."

* * *

After two more fast numbers the band began to slow down a bit, playing first one slow song, and then another. Sometime towards the beginning of the second song Tom began to hum the tune softly. He eventually began to sing the Gaellic words softly, his voice a bit husky, but the tune pure.

_Tiocfaidh mé is ni fhanfaidh mé_

_Tiocfaidh mé is ni fhanfaidh mé_

_Tiocfaidh mé is ni fhanfaidh mé_

_Is éalóidh mé le mo stór.**_

Though she didn't understand the words, Sybil felt them inside of her somewhere. Closing her eyes, she tried for one moment to imagine her life without Tom.

And she simply could not do it.

* * *

It was later, after they'd both had a Guinness (which Sybil hated, but drank anyway to prove a point), and they were on the dance floor again, spinning madly, completely lost in the movement of the dance and the music, when Sybil felt a hand on her shoulder.

"May I cut in?" a voice asked.

Sybil turned around to see a pair of dark blue eyes examining her. _My God, there's two of them! How can there possibly be…._

She swallowed. _Two Toms. Mmm. My._

Tom pulled her to the edge of the fray. "Sybil, meet my brother, Kieran Branson."

Sybil reached out a hand in his direction. "It's nice to meet you."

"And you."

She looked at him again, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. Yes, he did look like Tom – _though he's not quite as handsome, _she thought. _His hair is darker, and so are his eyes. And his nose is crooked – I bet he broke it at some point. And he's taller than Tom. _Her eyes flickered back to Tom, who was still holding her hand, his other hand now in his pocket. _Tom's still the best looking, though._ She squeezed his hand.

"Well, Tommy, you've done well for yourself!" Kieran ran his eyes over Sybil slowly. "Very well, my boy."

Tom shot him a disgusted look. "It's so nice that you approve."

"Will you let me have a dance now, and show you how it's really done?" Extending a hand to Sybil, he looked from her to his brother and then back.

"Of course." Sybil stepped politely forward and allowed Kieran to place his hand at her waist, the other grasping her hand. Her body, though, made no move to find his. Instead she stood straight, keeping a careful distance between them.

The dance went quickly, the tune simple a two step that required very little thought. At the end Kieran asked for another, but Sybil shook her head, and, detaching herself from Kieran's grip, began walking back to their table where Tom stood, waiting for them to join him.

"What are you drinking tonight?" Kieran gestured at the empty beer glasses that were still on the table. "Certainly you can do better than that for her, Tommy."

"We had whiskey earlier." The words shot out of Sybil's mouth.

Allowing Sybil to sit first, Tom tucked himself into the bench next to her, leaving Kieran the opposite seat. Kieran, though, didn't sit. "I'll go get us some more, then."

Turning and weaving his way through the crowd, Kieran disappeared in the direction of the bar.

"Don't pay any mind to him. He can be a right arse sometimes," Tom cautioned.

"Can't all siblings?" she responded a bit grimly.

"Aye." Turning slightly to face her, he reached up his hand to trail along the top of her shoulder. "So, what do you think of your taste of freedom tonight?"

Sybil grinned. "This isn't the first time I've been to a pub, you know. The last night of nurses training, in York, we all went to a pub and celebrated."

"With Susan?"

"Yes. It was great fun, though I was terribly scared. I had no idea what it would be like. And no one to reassure me but Susan, who had only been to the pub herself a few times!" She paused. "It's much better with you."

Sybil was gazing at his lips now, her own mouth gone quiet. Tom didn't move, but enjoyed the feeling of her admiration, so freely given tonight.

"Whiskeys for the Bransons!" Kieran put three glasses down on the table noisily, the contents inside the glasses sloshing up dangerously close to the rims. "And for Miss Crawley, of course." He nodded towards Sybil.

"Are these doubles?" Tom asked, already knowing the answer, but feeling suddenly like he should warn Sybil.

"Of course! Why not get the most punch for your glass?" Sitting down, Kieran slid one of the glasses in Sybil's direction.

Tom, knowing his brother well, reached for a tumbler and brought it up to his nose. "Good God, Kieran, what'd you get? This stuff smells like tar!"

"It'll taste fine! Bottoms up!" Kieran raised his and grinned, slamming it back in one large gulp.

Tom's eyes had a warning in them when he turned to face Sybil and clink his glass with hers. She smiled cheerily back, squeezing his knee with her hand under the cover of the table.

"Uh!" Tom wrinkled his nose as his shot went down. Sybil tried her best to keep her composure upon drinking hers, but Tom could see her tense. _And here we go, _he thought. _She's getting pretty close to…_

It kicked in about ten minutes later. He knew the moment it happened, because her hand starting running much higher up his leg then it ever had before. It was in the center still, but the path she was rubbing was now nearly hitting the crease of his thigh, helping him to remember that despite the alcohol, his body was certainly _not _relaxed.

She was giggling a lot more now too, at things that Kieran said, things that he said, things that she said, which weren't even funny. But he laughed anyway, too overwhelmed by the fact that Lord Grantham's youngest daughter was here, in a pub in Liverpool with him, running her hand up his leg, drinking whiskey purchased by the Branson brothers. This was surreal.

Wonderful, crazy, surreal.

And then her hand hit that crease, and moved ever so slightly to the side.

_Holy shit she's close!_

Tom closed his eyes briefly. Then they opened, and the first thing he noticed was the clock on the wall.

_And it's only half-past nine.  
_

* * *

_Eibhlin A Run – _

_I will come and I will not stay_

_I will come out and I will not stay. _

_I will come out and I will not stay. _

_And I will escape with my love._

Borrowed from blog/irish-gaelic-love-songs/


	9. An Apology and an Embrace

_This little chapter isn't much, when compared with the last. It fills a gap between their two dates (off to the movies next!) and incorporates another new "forbidden pleasure", though a much more sweet, romantic one. If you're looking for mischief keep tuning in – we'll get back to that soon enough! In the meantime, an apology and a look into Tom's mind – the morning after._

_And for those of you who are still questioning, did she or didn't she? Vote in the comments!  
_

* * *

"Good morning?"

"Miss Crawley? Good morning to you."

Tom looked up suddenly from the auto manual that he was holding in his hand and had just been examining. _Miss Crawley? Surely Sybil can't be – there's no way – _

"Good morning Mr. Branson. May I introduce you to my good friend Mrs. Lawson?"

Tom's feet were moving rapidly now, carrying him from the back of the garage where he'd been standing towards the front, where his brother was working on the green auto that a Scottish gentleman had dropped off last night just before closing.

_What is she doing here with Susan? Is she ok? Is she upset about what happened last night?_

He didn't hear his brother's response, but could hear her voice again just a moment. "I wonder if your brother might be in this morning, Mr. Branson."

"In the back."

_Leave it to Kieran to be so eloquent. _Tom grimaced. _I wonder how much she'll remember about last night._

She was standing just inside of the garage, the sun shining behind her, obscuring Tom's ability to see her face clearly until he was standing just in front of her. She was wearing the same blouse, skirt and coat she'd worn during their drive in on Monday. Her hands were clasped in front of her, holding a small bag. She looked a bit tired, but not too worn, considering.

_I wonder if Susan has a good hangover remedy. If I feel like this, she certainly must be much worse…._

Tom thought back to last night again. He'd stopped drinking as soon as he realized that Sybil was drunk, but he'd still felt rather tetchy this morning, his stomach nearly turning traitor when Kieran began to toast bread for breakfast. He'd watched his brother eat a bit warily, from the other side of the room.

_It's been a long time since I've even had as much as I did. I can't imagine how she must feel this morning._

Tom's mind flashed back to his younger days in Ireland. _Ok, well, maybe I can imagine. But I really don't want to think about it again._

"Good morning, Tom." Sybil flushed slightly.

_Oh God. She really doesn't remember, and is undoubtedly assuming that it got quite bad…._

Tom swallowed and tried to smile reassuringly. "Good morning, Sybil, Mrs. Lawson. I didn't expect to see you until this evening. Is something the matter?"

He glanced in Susan's direction briefly, trying to ask the question with his eyes. _Should I be expecting disaster?_

He got no response though, other than a quick exit from Susan.

"Mr. Branson, isn't there a bakery just around the corner? Yes? Thank you. Sybil, I'm going to go to some marketing, and I'll plan on coming back for you in half an hour or so, yes?"

Sybil nodded. "Yes. That's fine." Turning to face Tom again, her eyes were pleading, if just a bit pink. "Tom – is there a place we can go – to talk - " She looked at Kieran, who was back bending over the engine of the green auto again.

"Of course." He paused. _Well, I suppose it will have to do._ "Kieran, I'm taking Miss. Crawley upstairs."

The head under the car bonnet grunted in acknowledgment.

"Please." Tom reached out his hand, half in gesture towards the back of the garage where the stairs were located, half in hopes that she might reach for it. He smiled when the latter happened, Sybil quickly reaching out with her own hand to sneak it into his.

They walked silently to the back of the garage, their feet falling into the exact same cadence on the hard floor. Even when they began to ascend the stairs Sybil refused to drop his hand, though it meant that Tom's hand was now twisted behind his back and hers lifted up in front of her as the stairs were not wide enough for them to walk up side by side.

When Tom opened the door to show Sybil inside, he thought he heard her breathe out slightly. "Are you ok?" he turned and asked quietly.

Sybil nodded. "That bits all over, I think." She smiled weakly. "I feel such a fool, Tom, and I can't imagine what you must think of me…." Her gaze dropped from his face to their shoes. "I'm not quite sure what I must have done last night, but if I did anything wrong, I'm terribly sorry….

_So she doesn't remember._ A wash of relief flooded Tom's mind. _She doesn't remember._

They'd had an excellent evening, really, until the end. He'd never forget the moment she started peeling his jacket off of him, he was sure, or even the bit with his necktie. _The first time she tried to undress me,_ he reflected later that night, a rather wicked grin on his face when he finally climbed into bed. He'd had such a hard time getting to sleep, his mind full of her, her hands, her smiling, grinning, teasing face, her….well…her hands.

A drunk Sybil was a very handy Sybil – so Tom realized that evening. He'd eventually ended up grasping her hands in his, under the table, in the attempt to try to keep them where they – mostly – belonged. He still was a little shocked at her boldness. God knows he loved it….but he also wasn't quite sure that he could handle too much of _that_ there, in quite so public a place.

_Had we been at home in my cottage…._

Well, he was pretty sure that he wouldn't have had half as much self-control then.

He smiled again now.

Sybil's voice brought him back to reality.

"I didn't – I didn't embarrass you Tom, did I?" Her voice was quiet and had a slight tremble.

"Sybil –" Tom reached to take both of her hands in his. "Sybil, look at me."

Blue gray eyes raised to meet blue.

"Sybil, darling, I will never be embarrassed by you. There is nothing in the world that you could do that would make be ashamed, or embarrassed to be with you. I'm not – it's different – what we have, what we are….it's not like your world. There may be many times in our lives that we may be angry with one another, or just plain mad." He grinned a bit here. "But I will never, ever be embarrassed by you. Never."

Sybil blinked. She'd only heard half of his speech, her ears mind still stuck on his address. _Darling. He just called me darling._

And then she started to do something that she had not done before another person in years.

Tom panicked at first when he realized what was happening. Her eyes were filling, suddenly, and then they were spilling over, and a half dozen tears ran down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, dropping his hand to reach up and brush at one of the tears. His hand made it there first, though, only he didn't only brush the tear away, but just held her face, cradling her cheek in his palm. And then her hands were on his chest, rising upward, tugging, perhaps, just a bit at his shoulders.

And suddenly she was in his arms and he was holding her, his hands at her back, rubbing, stroking her gently, and he was whispering something in Gaelic in her ear.

Her head settled there, on his shoulder, a moment later, a natural fit.

They stood still, simply holding one another, for a few silent moments. Finally, though, Sybil spoke.

"Did you carry me last night, Tom?" She asked the question very quietly.

"Aye." His hands still moving across her back, Tom replayed the scene in his mind.

_The most awkward moment had been about halfway home, Sybil laughing and giggling and prattering on about this and that, when she'd missed a curb. She'd tripped off it, and Tom had reached out to grab her, to steady her. She'd swung around to him and suddenly there they were, on the edge of a Liverpool street, and she was reaching up, giggling still, her hand moving to his neck, her lips reaching up._

"_No, Sybil. No. Not here."_

_He knew the words sounded harsh, but he couldn't stop them. It couldn't happen here. He couldn't kiss her here, for the first time, on the edge of a busy Liverpool street, people staring as they walked by, Sybil too drunk to know truly what she was doing._

_She pouted and fussed, but in the end she didn't fight him, too much. And then in another half a block she stumbled again, over nothing this time, and Tom, sighing, stopped and waited for the inevitable. She began to drop just a moment later. He caught her, of course, and then reached to tuck his arm under her knees, picking her up, toting her the last few blocks back to the Lawsons._

_When Susan met them at the door she'd giggled at the sight before her. Lady Sybil Crawley, youngest daughter of the Earl of Grantham, drunk. It was enough to make Tom smile again, a bit. We've all done it, after all, I suppose. He carried her inside, into the front hall, and then eventually up to the Lawsons bedroom upstairs, where he'd laid her on the bed, as Susan instructed him too. _

"You carried me. I don't remember where, but I remember it. I do. Just like at the Count….."

Her voice trailed off.

His mind flashed back to that moment, so many years before. It was still enough to make his stomach drop.

"That was the worst night of my life. When I thought you might be hurt, I didn't know what to do, I couldn't do anything…"

"I know." Sybil turned her head slightly, bringing it up again, her forehead resting on his cheek, just as it had last night when they were dancing.

"You took such good care of me, Tom."

"And I always will, if you'll let me."

Sybil nodded.

"I know."

Tom closed his eyes. _Just say it. Just say it, right now. I have the money. I know it's foolish, but I brought it all with me, just in case you wanted to….if you were ready. There's a boat that goes this afternoon. We could….by tonight we'd be…._

"Tom?"

Sybil stepped back, but didn't break contact completely, her hands still resting on him.

"Will you….will you still take me out tonight?"

He started to sigh, but then caught himself.

"Of course. Where do you want to go?"

A grin played on the corners of her mouth. "Will you take me to see a picture show? I know it sounds silly, probably, but I've never…"

"Of course. I'm be happy to."

"And maybe some fish and chips before?" She glanced up at him flirtatiously now, and then away, and then back again.

Tom licked his lip and shook his head slightly. Reaching for her hand, he brought it up to his mouth and kissed it rather sloppily. "I don't know. Are you prepared for what that might bring?"

Sybil giggled.

"Tom?" She was fiddling with the knot in his necktie now, tugging on it just slightly. "Did I – Did I behave myself last night?" The expression on her face was equal parts sheepish and mischievous. "I remember most of it, dancing and drinking the whiskey with you and…." She giggled. "Arm wrestling and playing with your tie….."

Tom laughed. Tucking his hands in his pocket, he quickly decided that this was too good an opportunity to miss. Rocking up on his toes, he grinned devilishly.

"Well, you did rather start to undress me at one point…"

"What?!" Sybil's mouth dropped open. "What did I…."

"Don't you remember taking my coat off of me?"

"You!" She swatted at him playfully. "OF course I remember doing that." Her face was reddening now again.

"Oh, so it was memorable, was it?" Tom reached for her hand. "I was rather hoping you'd say that." His voice was sinking in volume now, but there was a decidedly mischievous gleam in his eye.

Sybil's eyes were big. She'd actually found herself replaying that scene in her mind again earlier that morning. She giggled again a bit nervously. "And otherwise? Did I do anything else that I shouldn't of?"

Tom's mind flashed back to the scene at the table again, when they'd been sitting across from Kieran. He glanced down at the small white hand in his.

"That, my darling, is if for you to wonder, and for me to remember."


	10. The Second Act

_Ok – to begin, a disclaimer. I've never set foot in Liverpool, so my knowledge of the theatres there is less than stellar. The third scene of this little fic is set at the Palais de Luxe, which looks like it was the picture palace sort. It was open in 1918, and it was showing films by that time._

_In terms of the film they see – and you'll figure out why I picked it pretty quickly! – it did come out in 1918. I have no idea how quickly it made it to the UK, but I couldn't resist. It was just too perfect. And heaven knows that even seeing it would have been quite *forbidden*, though as we all know Sybil was somewhat equated with male anatomy by this point….you know…nursing and all._

_Incidently, you get bonus points if you understand the bit about the advert. _

_I'm really open to ideas as to where we go from here….I'm really, really thinking about taking this AU for a bit, and then coming back to canon with the whole drawing room scene. I always felt like they were taking the easy way out, to an extent, when they tried to elope….it just always seemed a bit of a cop out to me. So please let me know what you think in the comments – full blown AU (which I know this is already, to some of you), or stick (loosely) to canon?  
_

* * *

Tom raised his hand to knock on the door before him. _You'd better do this right, tonight, my lad. This may be your last chance, for awhile, to really be with her and treat her properly._

_Properly._

He grinned.

The thought of a dark theatre and the beautiful Sybil Crawley did not exactly bring proper thoughts to his mind.

_Come on._

_Tom._

_Behave yourself. _

_Really. _

_She's going to open the door any moment and see you standing here, with an expression on your face that clearly shows that you want nothing more than to - _

He was pressing his lips together when Sybil opened the door.

She grinned at his expression, a bit of a question in her eyes.

"Hello," she said softly, and then giggled a bit.  
"Hello." _Gorgeous_, he thought.

"Come in." She stepped back to allow him just enough room to step inside. It wasn't much, though, and it forced him to stand directly in front of her. She reached out a hand to take his, and then she was leaning up and kissing his cheek.

She stepped back just as quickly as she had stepped forward. Turning away from Tom, she threw him a flirtatious smile over her shoulder. "I just need to tell Susan –"

He nodded.

There were roses in her hair again, the same three from the night before.

He remembered tucking the third rose into her hair, brushing his fingers along her neck.

_Oh please God, give me a chance tonight. Let me be able to touch her again, that skin there, on her neck…_

He straightened up slightly, wondering briefly how many Hail Marys a priest would require of him for such a prayer.

In a moment she was back again. "I just wanted to say goodnight to her, since I don't know when we'll be in tonight."

_Really?_

"Are you planning on staying out late?" Tom turned to retrieve her coat from the hook on the wall. "Milady." He held it up for her.

"Please." She reached out her hand to his lips. "I know it was in jest, but don't, Tom. Not tonight." A smile broke across her face. "And in answer to your question, maybe? Perhaps? If you're a good boy…'"

God, he loved it when she teased him.

He nodded dumbly, visions of acres of white skin before his eyes, and then placed a soft kiss on her finger, which was still at his lips. A hungry look passed over her face. _God, we're both wound tighter than clockworks tonight. She looks like she's lighting up, from the inside out._ _And God knows how I feel right now…. _Tom closed his eyes briefly and almost groaned.

_No. Too early for that. Later. You should probably get her out the door, first, at least. _

Trying to avoid thinking about his rather base needs, he attempted to act like a gentleman. "Sybil." He held the coat for her as she put it on.

"Thank you, Tom." She turned to face him, a hand reaching out for his coat. "It's much colder tonight, than last night."

Tom nodded, perhaps just a bit dumbly. "It is. But fall weather can turn so quick."

_Why are we talking about the weather suddenly?_

"It can." She reached a finger between the buttons of his jacket, tugging on the coat ever so slightly. Shifting her gaze from his chest, where it lingered, back to his eyes, she tipped her head slightly and arched a delicate eyebrow. "I think you'll rather have to keep me warm tonight."

_So that's why._

_Oh God. _

_Does she realize what I think when she says things like that? What happens, exactly?_

He looked at her again, a wicked smile on her face.

_On second thought, I think she knows exactly what she's saying._

Tom grinned even wider.

"I can't think of a better way to spend the night."

* * *

"Is this the theatre, then?" Sybil pointed a chip towards a rather large, ornate building situated another two blocks down Lime Street from where they were presently standing.

"Aye." Tom said, reaching over to bite the chip in Sybil's hand.

"You!" she exclaimed. "Really, I can't trust you near these things! You just keep your mouth to yourself!"

"Are you sure you mean that?" he said low, leaning closer to her.

"You – just – Tom – " she was sputtering and she knew it. Flushing prettily, she sent a dainty elbow in the direction of his ribs. "Really! We're in public! We should at least pretend to behave!"

A cheeky grin on his face, Tom quickly kissed her forehead and then made a big show of stepping back. "Of course. I will maintain a proper distance from you the rest of the night."

"That's not that I meant and you know it!" Sybil attempted to give him an exasperated look, knowing that it wouldn't be very convincing.

Reaching in for the last chip in her paper parcel, Sybil popped it in her mouth before Tom could steal it.

"Nurse Crawley?" A voice asked.

Sybil nearly choked. _Shit, it's Matron Smithers. Of all the people to meet in Liverpool…_

Tom, not recognizing the somewhat portly, very official looking woman in front of him, nonetheless noticed Sybil's discomfort and immediately put a placid, if pleasant, expression on his face.

"Ma'am." He doffed his hat and nodded his head, suddenly a respectful, upstanding young man.

By this time Sybil had managed to swallow her chip and get some sort of control over her composure. "Matron Smithers. It's so nice to see you again."

"And you, Nurse Crawley. Are you still nursing at the village hospital at Downton?"

Sybil nodded. "Yes, of course. Though I am also working at the convalescent home. You have heard, I presume, that Downton Abbey has been converted into a convalescent home for officers."

"Yes. That was very generous of your family." The woman nodded. "And this young man with you – has he served his country?"

Sybil felt Tom stiffen. Placing a hand firmly on Tom's arm, she responded quickly. "Mr. Branson is not able to fight at the present time due to a medical condition."

_Not that he wouldn't pick one right now, if I wasn't holding him down. Don't you dare say anything about the grand efforts of the British Empire, or what we did in Ireland, or I may not be able to…_

The woman nodded her head once, her eyes roaming over Tom slowly.

_Surely he's not one of them…_ Sybil could almost hear the words in the Matron's mind as she studied Tom. Of all of the people at the training college at York, Matron Smithers was certainly the woman who held Sybil's position in society in the highest esteem. While some of the others had looked down on her for her place in the aristocracy, Matron Smithers seemed very impressed by her title. _A little too much,_ Sybil thought darkly.

"And this young man with you is your – "

"Beau."

The word flew out of Sybil's mouth quickly. She could see Tom turning to face her out of the corner of her eye, the expression on his face a bit amused.

"Really." The cold eyes made another study of Tom, lingering on the worn edge of his coat.

"Yes. And we're going to be late to the theatre if we don't hurry. It's so nice to see you again, Matron. Tom – ."

Tucking her hand in his arm, Sybil nodded once to the slightly fluxomed woman before her and stepped forward, Tom walking quickly to keep up with her.

When they reached the corner Sybil tugged him around it. Finding a dark doorway, Sybil pulled him inside and let out a heavy breath.

"Are you ok?" Tom's hand gripped hers tightly. "You seem upset."

"I'm just shocked. Of all the people to see in Liverpool, I never expected it to be her."

"Does she know your family?" Tom's voice had a slightly edge to it, as though he was bracing himself for impending disaster.

"No. Not really. She – she's not the sort that Mama and Papa would ever meet anywhere, I'm sure. She teaches – taught – I don't know – at the college in York."

"I assumed that much."

Sybil nodded absentmindedly, as though she was traveling back there again, and seeing it all unfold.

"She would never have the chance to –"

Sybil shook her head, still clearly distracted.

Tom said nothing for a moment, letting her collect her thoughts.

Sybil leaned back into the doorway more, letting the cold stone of the entryway support her. _And here we stand, in a doorway, just like we did at York, so many years ago. _

_When you – _

_When you – _

Her lip trembled slightly. She bit into it, hard, willing it, and her racing heart, to still.

_He was in his uniform then, of course. And he had his hat on. I remember how he took it off, how he held it, as he spoke. How he promised…_

Her eyes closed involuntarily. _Bet on me._

_Bet on me._

_Bet on –_

She felt a hand squeeze her arm gently.

"Sybil?"

She opened her eyes to a pair of blue eyes that wore a concerned expression. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, feeling her entire body relax. "Of course."

"Thank you." The blue eyes were sincere.

Sybil gave Tom a quizzical look.

"For?"

"Introducing me to her."

Sybil smiled. _Of course. That's not generally something we posh people do, is it? Introduce our servants to our acquaintances._

"And for what you said. About me being your beau."

"You are, you know."

Tom nodded. _For tonight, at least._ His face clouded slightly.

"What?" Sybil turned her head up to his face.

"Nothing."

She paused, her eyes starring at the gray stone arch again.

_It's almost that date again. In another few short weeks it will be two years since he took me to York and asked me to leave everything and share his life._

"Are you ready?" Tom bent his elbow again, tucking her left hand carefully into it, as it had been earlier, when they'd walked to fetch the fish and chips.

_Am I ready?_

_Good question._

Nodding her head but saying nothing, Sybil stepped forward and out into the evening, her hold on Tom tight.

* * *

"Is it always so dark in theatres?" Sybil squinted into the large room before her.

"They turn the lights down just before the films start. They've probably already shown one of the advertisements."

"Advertisements?" Sybil turned her head to look at Tom, who was standing just behind her. "At a theatre?"

"It's not quite like the theatre you're used to, I wager." He smirked slightly as he said it.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Where are we to sit?" Squinting her eyes, she turned to face the large dark room again.

"Wherever we like."

"Ssshh!" A woman sitting on the aisle nearby turned and shot them a dirty look.

"Come on, then." Taking Sybil's hand, Tom led her down the aisle.

"Here." Tom began to slide into an empty row in the left section of the seats.

"Can't we go up further? Out from under the balcony, where it's not quite so dark?"

"If you like. But sometimes it can be better in the dark."

Sybil turned to face Tom, and then looked back at the seats he'd chosen. Towards the back, still, and no one behind them, nestled in a quiet, dark corner.

"Oh." Her mouth formed a small circle.

With a look that said _So now do you understand? _Tom tugged on her hand again slightly.

"This actually looks – quite nice." Reaching out, Sybil pushed down the edge of her seat and sat down.

Tom smirked slightly.

"Do you want to take off your coat?"

"Oh – I probably should." She stood again, turning her back to Tom.

"Here." He reached for it and pulled it off cleanly. _And there's that white skin again, just above her collar…._

Sybil turned towards him now. A teasing expression on her face, she reached for the lapels of his suit jacket. "And would you like help with your –"

Tom grinned. "Going in for a second try? Well done."

Reluctantly, Sybil pulled her hands back, a smirk on her face. "You can't blame a girl for trying, can you?"

Reaching down to smooth her skirt, Sybil sat down on the edge of her seat and proceeded to slide back slightly on the slippery leather.

"Oh!" A tiny squeak flew from her lips.

"That's one of the things I haven't taught you yet. We normal people get to sit back and relax." Tom winked as he turned to smile at Sybil, who was still gripping the arm rests of the theatre seat rather tightly. "See – there's another whole world out there."

Sybil raised an eyebrow. "Yes, and it's full of adverts for – oh." Sybil's attention, which up until that moment had only been half focused on the large screen in the front of the theatre, now suddenly focused forward. "My."

Tom looked up and saw a rather well dressed, and what he presumed would be considered good looking man, on the screen. He looked in amusement at Sybil, who was watching the screen quite intently now. Her mouth was open just slightly, her gaze clearly fixed on the larger than life man in front of her.

_Lucky sod._

Turning slightly towards Tom, though with her eyes still on the screen, Sybil whispered words that were intended to be innocent. "He's so big!"

Tom snorted softly, his hand coming up to rest at the center of his forehead as he bent over, his body shaking with silent laughter.

"What?" Sybil turned to look at him, her expression puzzled. "Tom – what? Why are you laughing?"

The laughing, shaking head was moving back and forth now. "Nothing."

_Lucky, lucky sod._

Sybil was having a hard time trying to decide where to direct her attention – at the laughing Irishman next to her, or the terribly handsome man on the screen, who was wearing a rather well-tailored suit, and standing outside of a large department store window, looking in.

As soon as the advertisement faded, Sybil turned to face Tom, her arms crossed across her chest. "What brought that on?"

Tom raised up his hands, feigning innocence. "That's something you'll have to figure out for yourself." _Because there is no way on God's green earth that I could explain that to you, of all people…_

Sybil turned to face the screen again. Her brows were slightly knit, though eventually she started to relax and lean back again.

In another moment there was a hand at her shoulder, a finger tracing lightly up and around in circles. Sybil felt herself breathe in quickly, and turned to see Tom watching her intently. In another moment the finger was trailing up, ever so slightly, until it hit the top of her collar.

"Tom –" she turned at the touch. She meant to scold him, but found herself lowering his chin slightly, so his hand was touching more of her neck.

"Do you intend to watch any of this film, or are you just going to sit here and – oh!" Her gasp was quiet, but it elicited a grin from her seatmate.

"Fine. If that's what you want – " Reluctantly breaking contact with her neck, Tom leaned back in his seat and brought his one foot up to rest on his knee, making a rather large production of stretching out his arms.

Even though she couldn't quite see his entire performance, Sybil knew his arm was moving behind her, stretching, and then gripping her shoulder tightly. Within a moment the other side of her neck was being teased. "Is that better?"

Pressing her lips together tightly, Sybil tried to suppress a quiet laugh. "I suppose so. Incidentally, what are we seeing?"

Blue eyes sparkled with merriment. "Tarzan and the Apes. From what I've heard, I think you rather might like it."

Sybil's mouth dropped open. "The one in those prints, with the man who isn't wearing – who is – " She found herself stumbling over the whispered words. "Who –"

A vision of a shirtless Tom, walking towards her in the lake on the back of the estate flashed before her eyes.

"Sybil?"

_How long have I been staring at his chest? _

Her cheeks flooded a brilliant red, she turned to face the screen.

_Thank God for the dark._

Tom chuckled again, low, and a bit husky in her ear.

She turned towards his, suddenly aware that their faces were inches apart.

_Good God he's handsome,_ she thought.

Turning back to the screen again, she watched as a rather half-dressed man filled the screen.

_I beg him to bring me to a picture, and then when I find myself here, I can only look at the screen and see him._

Smiling to herself, she snuggled in closer to Tom.

_I wonder if they ever show two movies together, one after the other…  
_

* * *

When the film ended, Tom and Sybil found themselves lingering in the theatre, strolling up to the balcony to take in the different perspective, wandering next to the stage to see the view from that vantage point. They dawdled inside until it became apparent that the ushers would prefer them to leave, as they needed to clean the theatre before closing.

"Where to next, then?" Tom asked as they stepped back out onto the sidewalk.

Sybil shivered. "I know I should probably say somewhere warm, as it's so cold."

Tom wrapped an arm around her and rubbed her arm with his gloved hand. "To a pub?" he teased.

Sybil laughed. "No, not tonight. I think I'll need to wait a bit, before I try that again." She was silent for a moment, then, thinking about how it probably would be _quite_ awhile before she'd be able to go to such a place again with Tom. _If I ever do._

Banishing the thought, she turned towards him. "I don't want to go back to the Lawson's – not yet. It's too early."

_And I'll not take you back to Kieran's. God knows what he'd say if we walked in at this time of night, together._

"How about a walk, then? I know it's cold, but if we are moving about –"

Sybil nodded. "Yes. That sounds lovely. Wasn't there a lovely park that we passed on the way here?"

"Aye. Shall we?"

* * *

When Sybil Crawley used to dream about her first kiss, she would never have set it the dream in a park in Liverpool. Yet it somehow seemed appropriate for it to be in this place, the city that was the gateway between his home and hers. _I wonder if he'll kiss me again here, when we come back to leave for Ireland._ Her eyes flew open briefly mid-kiss at the thought, which came to her completely unexpectedly. Then they quickly closed again, her entire body too absorbed in how he _felt – _his hands, his body, his lips, the feel of his tongue slowly running along her lip, inside her mouth. "Mmmm." The sound escaped from her throat as her eyes closed again. She felt Tom pull back ever so slightly then, and as his lips came back to her, she could feel the smile on his lips.

_I will. I – we – will come back here someday. And we'll leave for – _

She knew at that moment that she would find some way. She didn't know quite how, or even why, exactly, but that she would. Tom – Tom was just too much. He was too much a part of her for her to ever leave him. Or let him leave her.

_I'll go with him because I love him. _

_Because you're the most important thing in the world to me, my love._

_Yes._ She mouthed the word ever so slightly against Tom's mouth the next time they broke for air. He pulled back slightly, an odd question in his eyes, and she half wondered if he understood. But now was not the time for words. Now was the time for kisses that made her feel drunk, much drunker than last night. She wrapped her hand around his neck and pulled him back to her, moaning against his lips as she tasted him again.

As she sunk into the kiss she found herself thinking briefly about how she had never dreamed that it would be his hands that undid her. Sure – kissing was wonderful. _Wonderful._ In fact if she had to describe the taste of him right now, she suspected it might be _exquisite. _But his hands. Oh God. Those hands, which she had watched for so many years, gripping the steering wheel. Reaching for the door handle. Holding a rag as he polished the Renault. Reaching out to grasp hers. _Those hands. _It was those hands, somehow, that seemed to make the kiss even more intense, as he clung to her. Those hands that seemed to move an inch further down every time he ran them up and down her back, fingers spreading, the very tips of them coming up and around her side, inching forward. His hands that she so desperately wanted to grab suddenly, and hold as he touched her, just to feel that much more of the sensation, their pleasures coming together.

He broke away then, just slightly, to breathe, as he ran his hands down past her waist, down, down…

"Tom," she felt herself whimper, her mind suddenly blank. She realized, somewhere in the back of her mind, that she was pressing her body hard against his, that he was moving his hips against her skirt a bit, and then a bit more. She closed her eyes again, a smile on her lips, and wondered what exactly he was thinking about her - _about me – _in that very moment. Suddenly she wanted to know exactly how he did think about her, what he imagined. Every. Single. Detail. She tipped her head back then and opened her eyes, her entire line of sight filled by the darkest sky, pierced by millions and millions of stars.

"Tom – I." She gasped suddenly. "Tom – love." He stopped suddenly, his body frozen.

_I will – _

_I want to go – _

_Tonight – _

_No. _

_He deserves better than for us to disappear away from here, with no word to anyone. He deserves better. He deserves me to stand before my family, face their wrath, and claim him, proudly. Somehow I will do it._

She smiled then, at his face, at his blue eyes, at his lips, which were wet –_ from me –_ she thought, her mind heady.

"Tom – I love you."

_Yes. That's what I need to say. That's enough – for tonight._

Tom made some little sound in his throat that sounded like a cross between a soft laugh and a sob.

"Sybil – do you –"

"Not yet, Tom. Not – _yet_." She tried to put a little more emphasis on the second word, hoping he would understand. She brought a white finger up to rest on his lips. "I do love you."

She kissed him again then, once, and then stepped back ever so slightly. Her hands ran from his neck down his chest then, along his body, down to his thighs, his entire frame hard under her touch. He closed his eyes then, and she felt herself burn at the look on his face, at the feel of his body under her hands.

_My God. How badly - _

"Tom - "

His eyes opened slightly, watching her.

_How badly must he – _

_If this is how _I_ feel, how bad must it be for - _

"Tom. " She leaned forward again, closing the tiny space, crashing her body into his, kissing him as though she could never, ever, taste him enough.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! I hope to post something in Tom's Memories next (this fic seems to steal a little more of my time than that one), and then I'll try to write here again soon. I really need to think about where I need to go, though. Please let me know what you think!_


	11. A Very Good Morning

_A small snippet, the morning after the kiss. For Yankee Countess, so she doesn't have to cry into her ice cream again today (see Tom's Memories, another fic) and Aquitaine85, who wanted Tom's perspective on the kiss.  
_

* * *

"Good morning." Her voice was low, but the tone oh-so-happy, as she opened the Lawson's door to him the next morning.

"Good morning." She was standing right in front of him, just inside of the door, like last night. Glancing quickly over her shoulder to make sure Susan and James weren't within the line of sight, Tom bent his head slightly and put his lips on hers.

"Mmmm." Sybil moaned softly into the kiss, reaching out to put her hands on his lapels.

_Finally. _

_Finally finally finally.  
_

* * *

That was the first word that had cropped up in Tom's head the night before, when they kissed for the first time. _Finally._ _After so many years. After so much wanting. After so many dreams, so many fantasies, so many –_

He'd been surprised a bit, how it happened. They had been strolling through the park casually, walking the angled pathways that led to the fountain, at the center. The water bubbled musically, the weather still just warm enough for the fountain to run.

"It'll freeze up, soon, if they aren't careful," Sybil had said, turning to face it. She shivered then, her body shaking slightly. "It's cold out tonight."

"Mmm." Tom made the noise into her hair as he pulled her backwards, her back towards him, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning his chin on her shoulder. "Which is why I'm here to keep you warm."

Sybil had giggled softly, wrapping her arms around his, running them over the wool sleeves of his jacket. Suddenly she started to turn.

"But you don't have a proper coat on. You must be – " She cut the sentence short just as her body came around to face his. "You're the one that needs keeping warm. I should be the one keeping you –"

And then her hand was on his neck, caressing the short hair there. And the next thing Tom knew she was pulling his head down, ever so slightly, her eyes now closed, their lips touching.

_Finally._

Despite being nearly 30 years old, Tom found himself literally weak-kneed, so shocked, so taken, that this was all suddenly, _finally,_ happening, that he hardly knew what to do at first. Her kiss was soft, her lips warm in the cold night air.

_This must be – I wonder if she – What will she do if I –_

His mind was running a million miles a minute.

_This is finally happening._

She pulled back slightly, just to put a fraction of space between their lips.

_Kiss her back, you dolt._

It was Tom who leaned forward this time and reached for her, his kiss a mirror of hers – warm, but chaste.

The difference, though, was that Tom didn't pull back after the second kiss. Something – maybe it was her other hand, which was snaking around his waist now, under his jacket – or the fact that she was leaning her body fully against his, her soft curves making his mind feel as though it was turning to porridge – something in her tasted, or felt, like the permission he wanted her to give.

The third time they kissed, Tom opened his mouth a little, breathing onto her lips, asking them to do the same. And they did, on number four, which was a little deeper, a little longer, a little wetter, than before.

_And that's how she tastes._

The kisses had grown then, in warmth, in duration, in intensity. As she grew bolder, opening her mouth a little wider, then smiling, and finally letting tiny sounds escape, Tom relaxed, his instinct and, frankly, his experience, kicking in.

_She quite good at this, actually._ The thought made the corners of his mouth turn up slightly, even as they continued kissing.

He felt his body stiffen and move a bit, and then she responded in kind.

_Really, really good._

His hands were moving now, and she said his name and then she was pulling back ever so slightly, and when Tom opened his eyes, afraid he had gone too fast, allowed too much –

He opened his eyes, and saw that hers were open too, her head dropped back, her gaze on the bright stars above them.

"Tom – I… Tom – love" He paused, his body suddenly still, shock and fear and lust coursing through him.

_Was it too much?_

_Should I not have –_

_Is she –_

Then she smiled at him, her eyes lingering over his face, and opened her lips again.

"Tom – I love you."

He stared at her, completely taken, no thought in his mind but her words.

_She loves me._

He felt something come from his throat then – part gasp, part cry, part – pure joy.

"Sybil – do you – "

He wasn't sure what he meant to say. _Do you really? Do you mean that? Do you want to go – _

And then more words.

"Not yet, Tom. Not – _yet."_ He felt her finger on his lips then, and he realized, somewhere, that they were both trembling. "I do love you."

He nodded dumbly then, and kissed her again.

It was the words that had very nearly undone him. The words that were, ultimately, what had kept him awake half of the night.

I love you.

I love you.

And then what followed.

Not –

Not –

Yet.

He could have sworn he head a yes in her tone.

* * *

"Ahem." Tom's eyes flew open and he stepped back suddenly, backing himself against the door.

"Good morning,Tom."

Sybil, her face flushed, turned to face Susan.

"Really, Susan. Couldn't you walk in a bit louder next time?"

Susan laughed and rolled her eyes. "So the two adolescents in my front hall have a moment to compose themselves?"

"Yes."

Susan turned then, and made a large production of walking a few steps back towards the kitchen. "Ahem!" Clearing her throat loudly, she walked as loud as humanly possible forward. "Is this better?" she whispered conspiratorially to Sybil, who was laughing louder at this point. "Good morning, Tom! How are you this morning?" she boomed.

"I am excellent, thank you." He nodded his head for affect.

Sybil turned to face him again. "Yes, you are," she whispered.

A cheeky, pleased look on his face, Tom turned his attention back to Susan. "Thank you, for inviting me for breakfast this morning."

"The pleasure is ours. I must say that I'm going to miss having you –" her eyes flickered to Sybil," and you too, Tom." and then to him, "here. I hope that the two of you will come back and visit us sometime again."

"Of course," Sybil responded, smiling warmly at her friend.

_Of course._

_When we – _

_After she –_

_Dear God, what did she mean last night – _

_Is really going to – _

_Will we return – _

Tom turned to the blue-gray eyes before him again as Susan began to pad off towards the kitchen. "So I'm excellent, am I?" he teased softly, his hand stealing around Sybil's waist.

Sybil grinned, but said nothing.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

_I want to know if she was thinking about me like I was about her – _

"Did you?" she responded a bit saucily.

"No. I kept thinking about this beautiful girl who finally kissed me."

Sybil grinned and teasingly arched an eyebrow. "Finally?"

"Finally."

And then their lips met again.


	12. Plans, Pain, and a Promise

_What is it with these two? I sit down to write one scene, and then another pops out of my fingers. I originally thought this fight, or discussion, if you will, would take place at Downton. But now I see that it had to happen before – a sort of girding of the loins, if you will, before they go back and face the lions. _

_By the way, this fic is now AU – we'll say temporarily, as I might bring it back to canon with the drawing room scene – though it could be permanently AU. Who knows, with these two? I'm skipping the elopement, though, for a variety of reasons…..I suppose because I see things a bit differently, with this story, than Fellows. (And really – at this point – who can blame anyone for that?)_

_Anyway – I hope you enjoy. And don't worry. We'll get back to those forbidden pleasures soon. There's still plenty on the agenda – a birthday (with yummy cake!), a late night car ride, a slight injury that desperately needs some tender nursing…_

_Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments, please!  
_

* * *

"Can I ever kiss you, when we're at Downton?"

Sybil's eyes closed and she sighed deeply, letting her body fall back against the thick tree trunk behind her. They'd been playing this game ever since they'd stopped for the picnic lunch that Susan had packed for them to eat on their way home. It had been nearly half an hour now, and with each question, with each answers, both players seemed a little more exhausted, their faces a little more drawn.

_O, please God. Just let the earth swallow us both. Right now. Just – Just create some sort of disaster that will carry us both away, so no one will ever find us, and we can just melt away into oblivion._

Sybil pressed her eyes together more tightly. She felt her hand flex around the piece of bread she was holding – had been holding – for several minutes.

_I can't even bear to eat. The thought of it – going back – to being as we were, before – so separated – It just…._

She could feel the bread begin to break and crumble as she squeezed the piece tighter, little bits flaking off onto the blanket on which they sat. She threw it then, off into the dying fall grass.

_How in God's name will we ever manage to go back and not –_

_They'll see. _

_I'm sure they will. _

_They'll feel it, even, that sizzle in the air, when Tom takes my hand as I get into the motor. They'll – they'll see it, feel it, even, that spark, when his skin touches mine…_

_How in God's –_

Biting her bottom lip hard, nearly drawing blood, she finally screwed up the courage to open her eyes. They were met by a steely blue.

_How will we ever –_

Tom just watched her, not ready to say anything either, his gaze dark and unreadable.

She reached forward then, instinctively, to brush back a bit of his fringe. He sucked in his breath at the touch, still so unused to feeling her fingers make so intimate a gesture.

"You can't do that, you know, when you hand me into the motor. Gasp like that, I mean, when we touch."

Tom pressed his lips together in a tight line, frowning slightly. "Wear your gloves, then."

Despite herself, Sybil felt the corners of her mouth tugging up a bit. "Are you telling me not to touch you? I think that must be a first –"

Something in his expression made her stop.

"I'm – I'm sorry. I just – I don't know what to tell you. Yes? You can kiss me? Because I want you to? Because you don't deserve for me to tell you no, after I was the one who kissed you, last night? Yes, but only when we're alone – Tom - !" She broke off here, gesturing blindly with her hands in frustration. "Or should I say no, because even if they did know about us, it's still not really acceptable in my world…." The words were pouring from her lips more quickly now, her thoughts running out unfiltered. "If you do, there's always the risk that – "

And suddenly she stopped, her face flooding hot, her stomach tightening.

_There's always the risk that –_

_That I might not want you to –_

_To –_

_To stop._

"Yes?" Tom asked, a little surprised at her sudden embarrassment, unable to read her thoughts.

"That you might get sacked," she said a little too quickly, her filter now back in place.

"Sybil, there are plenty of things that your father could easily sack me for, at this point…"

"I know. But if they saw us, kissing…." She lifted her shoulders dramatically and then settled them back down, an air of defeat in the gesture.

"What? What would happen, exactly? I'd be sacked, let go, without a reference, and you would – " Tom paused here, his arms crossing across his chest. "You would – Sybil - What would you do, exactly? Would you stand with me, then?"

Her face flashed instantly to anger, indigence. "Of course I would! How can you even ask such a thing?" She was standing, suddenly, her feet carrying her back and forth in a quick pace. "Do you honestly think I could just stand by and watch as my father threw you out of Downton? Do you think I could just do nothing? Good God – I did more than that years ago, after the Count! If you remember correctly, Mr. Branson, I defended you – I threatened to run away if Papa fired you!" She was biting each word now, flinging, even spitting them out, each word sharply edged by frustration and anger.

Tom's temper flared to match hers quickly. "Oh, I see. So I just need to be fired, then, and suddenly you'll make your choice. You'll be ready to go, but only when I'm left with no other option but to leave, your father's boot firmly placed on my arse." He voice was bitter with sarcasm.

This stopped her suddenly, her expression shocked, her eyes blazing with a hot fire. "I can't believe you just said that! Honestly, Tom – I – "

She stopped then and stood in front of him, her body trembling.

"That's not what I meant. You – you don't understand – "

"Oh, I understand." His tone was bitter. "You'll go, but only when your hand is forced and we have no other option but to shrink off to into exile with the bloody chauffeur, your reputation too far gone to –"

Suddenly she was on her knees in front of him, her hand reaching out to strike him. Tom saw the movement, though, and caught her wrist before she could land her palm on his cheek.

"You!" She hissed. "I can't believe you – I - "

And then suddenly there were tears in her eyes. Closing them, pressing her lids together, her head sank into her free hand.

Though still smarting from the harsh words, Tom found himself letting go of her wrist and reaching out put his arms around her. She looked so weak suddenly, so distraught. Leaning forward, he wrapped her close to him, one hand coming up to stroke her hair while the other caressed her back. They sat like that for a long moment, their anger tempered by their touch.

"Sshh. It's be alright. We'll manage, somehow…."

Her head was shaking then, and she was trying to pull back. Tom let her, relaxing his grip, letting his hands rest on her arms lightly, still rubbing them.

_God, it's amazing. Even when she cries, even when she's yelling bloody hell at me, I still want nothing more than to take her in my arms and – _

"Will we? Manage, I mean?" She asked the question softly, a hand coming up to wipe at her nose. "I wonder sometimes, how we'll ever – "

Tom said nothing, letting her do the talking, still not quite trusting his own mouth.

"I wonder, sometimes, if we really understand the fury that we'll unleash when we - You said one time, I remember, that it was all details. That as long as we loved each other - I just wish it was, Tom. Truly. But it's not. You must see that. I know that you've said that when it's all said and done, that you'll welcome them with open arms, when they come around. But what if they never do? What if they can never accept this – you and I? My father could have you deported, Tom. Deported. Tossed on a ship tomorrow, never allowed to set foot on English soil again. All he'd have to do is call the Home Secretary – he's my godfather, for heaven's sake – and you'd be gone. As if there never was a Tom Branson at Downton Abbey. As if –"

She exhaled deeply, her breath a bit fast, jagged.

"Do you know what they'll say about you? The awful, nasty, vicious accusations they'll make? That you've ruined me – left me with no other options. Destroyed me, seduced me – all to prove that you could bring down a member of the aristocracy. That's what they'll say about you! That you're an ungodly socialist who – " She broke off now to draw another breath, her hand reaching up to try and stem the tide of liquids flowing down her face. "They'll say awful things….absolutely wretched things…. You'll never be able to work in this country again, no matter what field, no matter where…."

Her voice was dropping now, her speech slowing slightly, her hands coming out to rest on his chest. "And I'd have to watch the entire thing, knowing there was nothing I could do to stop…."

Tom sighed. "Then why don't we go now? If you're so afraid of what they'll do and say if they catch us, why not just go tonight, and be gone? We can still make it back to Liverpool tonight, and then we'll catch the first boat in the morning. We can stay in a pub, if you want, so Susan and James aren't involved. You can telephone when we get there, to the pub, I mean, and tell them that we've had trouble with the motor, and then we'll send Kieran to Downton with it tomorrow, and we'll be on the boat before they ever know."

Sybil's eyes widened, her mouth falling slightly open. "I – We can't – How would we.–" A brief thought of sharing a pub room with Tom –_ alone - _ filled her mind.

Her thoughts, though, were quickly broken by the voice speaking to her. "I have the money. I brought it all with me – everything – we might need. In case we – you - All you need to say is yes, Sybil, and we'll be gone. And they'll not be able to stop us. We'll be in Ireland, far away, before anything breaks."

_He's thought this all out. He's planned it all, every last bit, just in case…_

"Tom –"

A pleading stare met her eyes.

_He's serious. We could go right now, today, and all of this would be over. All of it. We'd be married by Christmas._

She trembled again, then, a shiver running through her body. Whether it was from the cold, from fear, or from excitement, she would never be sure, neither at that moment, or later, when she would look back and play the conversation over again in her mind.

"I can't. We can't. Not…..yet." The words from last night flew from her lips again.

Tom's head turned a bit sideways. "You say not yet. And you say you love me. And God knows, Sybil, I believe you. And I love you too, desperately. But when? When? What will finally push you over the edge?" There was desperation in Tom's voice now, replacing most of the anger. Even as he said it, though, his hands kept caressing her, rubbing over her arms.

"I – I need to finish my nursing. I committed – until the war is over." She broke his gaze then, looking down to her hands. It was a lie and they both knew it. She was a volunteer, after all, and could technically leave the hospital anytime she chose.

Tom's face was still a bit dark.

"And – and I – I need to be able to tell my family. Properly."

Tom shook his head as though he didn't believe what he was hearing. "Properly? You just told me that your father could have my deported, the instant he knows, and then you say that you must tell them properly? I know I'm just a working class lad, but I have a hard time seeing how any of this will ever be construed as proper."

This raised Sybil's ire again, though she made no motion to pull away from Tom. "Don't you say that to me, Tom Branson. Don't you sit there and play the working class fool, who has no idea how these things work. You are just as intelligent and capable as I am – as anyone I've ever met. Don't pretend to play a game with this. You know, as well as I do, that if we are to do this, we must do it right."

"Right. And how would that be – " _milady._ He didn't say it, but they could both feel the word just there, under the surface, stinging them both.

Sybil leaned forward then, against him, suddenly feeling as though all of her strength had eviscerated. _We shouldn't be doing this. We shouldn't be fighting. If ever there was a time when we need to cling together, it will have to be now, as we're getting ready to – making our plans – _

_If we let our anger master us now, divide us, then they will have won, and we'll be done for before we even properly begin…._

Closing her eyes, Sybil prayed for strength. Strength to be brave, to hold strong, to find some sort of balance between her love for Tom and her desire to not lose her family.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she pulled back slightly from the warmth of Tom's chest. Straightening up so she could look him in the eye, she tried to steel herself for the words she wanted to say. "If we – " Her hand snaked up then, to touch his cheek. "If we run off, they'll try to catch us. Even if we're in Ireland. Papa would try to come after us, and I don't know what he might do, in anger…. And we – you – deserve better than that - my love." The words were a caress, even more so than the touch of her hand. "You deserve me to –" her voice broke slightly here. "You deserve me to – to stand – with you, before my family, and tell them that I love you, that you're my choice_, my choice_, Tom, and that there is nothing, _absolutely nothing,_ that will change that."

There was a question still, in the blue eyes that watched her. "And am I, Sybil? Am I your choice?"

_How can he possibly not know? How can he, after all of this, still wonder – after last night, when I said – _

But then she looked at him again and reminded herself that she wasn't the only one who was placing everything on the line, terrified of what might lie on the other side. _He's giving everything up too, his work, his means of earning a way in the world, not knowing what his family will think, how'll they'll react, how we'll be received in Dublin – _

_He's scared too, deep down, I think –_

Sybil reached for his hand then, and brought it up in her own, between then. Holding it, drowning in blue, she rubbed her thumb across the back the rough hand, caressing it softly.

"You are my choice, Tom. And you always will be."

He smiled then, that lopsided grin that made him look much younger, a bit boyish.

"And somehow – soon – we'll tell them. And then we'll go to Dublin. And – and we'll – we'll marry. I will – I want to – marry you."

It was a promise quickly sealed with a kiss.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Another chapter coming soon..._


	13. Tom's Birthday

_One part cheek (in more ways than one!), one part sweetness. This chapter is a bit up and down, as I imagine they might have been at this point – a bundle of mismatched and sudden emotions, to say the least. I'm not entirely happy with it, but it accomplishes what I wanted – some fun, some seriousness, a bit of planning, and lots of love. And I just love to think of the look on Sybil's face when she hears Tom's last line…._

_Sorry about the delay in getting this up. It's been a crazy last couple of weeks. The chapter should come sooner, though, as it's already half written. And if this one's a bit too mushy for you, just you hang on. The next will be much saucier!_

_By the way, I know that some people consider it canon that Tom's birthday is in May – I'm throwing that idea out for right now. For the purposes of this fic, it's in the fall._

* * *

"Happy Birthday." Her husky voice was barely just above a whisper, the greeting a bit soft, and intimate.

Tom stood for a moment silently, his eyes searching to find her in the dark room. Stepping fully inside the cottage, he pulled the door closed behind him with a gentle click. In another moment his eyes had found her.

She was sitting at the table, half hidden by the shadow of the tree outside his window. Standing there, watching her, he wasn't entirely sure what he should do, what he should say. It's the first time they been alone – really alone – since returning.

"Thank you." They are just two words, but they are all that he can think of at this very moment. _Thank you for loving me. Thank you for wanting to be with me, tonight. Thank you for –_

Sybil's smile widened slightly as he reached up for his coat and began to automatically unbutton the bright buttons of his livery. Not saying anything, she watched him, her eyes sharp in the dark light. It only took her a moment to realize that his hand is trembling slightly.

Tom realized it too, and began to turn around slightly, blocking her view.

"Tom."

He heard her push back her chair then, on the wooden floor, the legs scraping noisily.

"Don't." In a moment she was there, standing in front of him, her hand moving up to cover his. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver though him.

A week. One week. One week, three hours, two thunderstorms, somewhere around twenty-five cups of tea, and two car rides with her and her sisters later, and they are finally together again, completely alone, for the first time since they returned from Liverpool.

His eyes watched her closely as she let her hand linger on his chest. _Did we really – Did she – Will we – Are we –_

Yet he can't say anything. He's too afraid of the answer. Tom Branson, of all people, is finally speechless.

He's been afraid, all week, that it will end. Somehow. That he'll come back at night to his cottage to find a note telling him that she's changed her mind, that it's no good. She can't do it. She sees that, now that she's back at Downton. That it will just be too much – leaving to go with him into the world of the unknown.

The fear first hit him the next morning after their arrival, when he'd woken too late and had to rush about to be ready for his Lordship's journey. Seeing the house again, in the bright light of day, he wondered if he dreamed it all, the whole trip.

_How could she possibly leave this to go with me? How can I ask her to turn her back on all of this, her family's wealth, her position in society, their wealth, and go to live in Dublin in poverty, in war, with me?_

Yet he knows it must have happened, because his Lordship asks him about it when they are pulling away from Downton. _Did you have a pleasant visit with your brother in Liverpool? Lady Sybil tells me that the weather was fair while you were there…._

_But she's here, now, _he thought, his thoughts returning to the present. It was enough to comfort Tom, but not enough to erase all of his doubts. Instead Tom found himself just standing there, saying nothing, as her hand continued to cover his. In another moment she reached for him with her other hand, and she pulled their bodies closer together. Her lips found his then, in the dark, and she kissed him sweetly.

He could feel his body relax at her touch, and when she pulled back, he found himself reaching out to hold her, grasping at her waist.

"Nothing's changed, Tom. Nothing."

He felt himself smile, then, truly, for the first time since they'd arrived back at Downton. He closed his eyes briefly –_Thank God – _and then opened them again to smile at her. Glancing down at her hand, which was still fiddling with his livery button, he chuckled. "Indeed. You're still trying to undress me."

Sybil laughed at this. Stepping back and lifting her hand, she swatted at him playfully.

In another moment they were both laughing, the tension broken. In the midst of it Tom leaned in for another kiss.

It was Sybil who eventually pulled back.

"What?" Tom whined gently.

Sybil grinned and turned to the table.

"We need to celebrate your birthday. See – I brought cake."

"Isn't that what we're doing – celebrating?" Tom leaned around next to her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she squealed softly. Resting his head on her shoulder, he kissed just beneath her ear, his lips a bit rough on the soft, smooth skin.

She yelped softly, her cry turning into a soft mew after a short moment.

"Tom – " he wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a protest or an invitation.

His lips moved a little to the left, now fully on her neck. "It's an Irish birthday tradition – " he started, between kisses. "You're supposed to kiss a pretty girl for each year."

"Ah."

Somewhere inside Sybil a distant memory flashed to mind, sitting fuzzy on the edge of her current bliss. She tried halfheartedly to conjure it up in between Tom's kisses, his lips starting to drive her to absolute distraction.

_Who would have thought a neck –_

_Birthday – _

_Traditions -_

"Oh!" a little sound then, perhaps a bit of shock, as his kisses became just a bit rough, though at what exactly it was, she couldn't say.

_My God –_

_He's – _

_I'm never going to –_

_Birthdays – _

And then she felt his hand coming down to graze against her back, drifting…

Suddenly she started to laugh.

Tom's mouth instantly pulled back, as did his hand.

"What? Are you ticklish? Don't tell me I'm never going to be able to touch you…" He groaned. _ So help me, if she ends up being one of those girls…._

A memory of roaming hands flashed in his brain.

_Maybe I'll need to buy her some whiskey again…_

Laughter still bubbling fresh from her, Sybil waved a hand in front of her face. "I'm sorry – Tom – really – " she gasped. "I just – Just as you – It reminded me of –" The words were coming out in short little bursts around her laughter.

"I just – Grandmama – "

And then the hand clapped over her mouth. _Shit. I can't say that to him! What if he expects me to – _

She was bright red now, her face burning in bright flames.

_Me and my stupid mouth – _

"What?" Tom asked, completely befuddled by her sudden burst of giggles followed by her hand clamping firmly over her mouth.

She was shaking her head now. "No, I can't –" she mumbled, her hand still firmly in place. She breathed, wishing the floor would suddenly swallow her up. _I can't –_

"Sybil –" This time the tickling was intentional. His hands reached to grab for her, running along her arms, along her neck, at the edge of her corset, anywhere he thought she might be slightly vulnerable.

She was laughing again now, so hard that she was nearly crying. He was too – though he was still obviously a bit more in control of his sense, as he made sure to steer her back, in the dark, so in another two steps she would be pinned against the wall.

Her hand dropped then in an effort to protect herself. "Tom – I can't!" she shrieked. "Really!"

"Yes you can, love. It's my birthday, after all, so you have to do what I ask."

"But I brought you cake! And a present! That must count for – Tom! You!" She had managed to grab one of his hands, though the other was still roaming, teasing her mercilessly. "Really!"

He was laughing then, and in a moment his hand was free. "All you have to do is tell me what made you laugh so, and I'll stop."

"Liar." Their eyes were locked now.

_Maybe I should just change my tactics…._

Suddenly Sybil grabbed for Tom again. Instead of trying to throw him off, though, she wrenched him closer, pulling his body fully against hers. Her mouth reaching up, hungry, she kissed him hard.

This was enough to make Tom's fingers freeze, if momentarily. It didn't, however, do what she wished.

He pulled back, a minute later. "Minx," he teased. "Nice try. Now I'm even more intrigued what this might be, if you're going to kiss me like that to distract me. Something about your Grandmama, and America – and birthdays."

Sybil's eyes closed, as though she were a child who thought that he might disappear if she couldn't see him.

"Sybil…." His tone was low, and she could feel the rumble in his chest. She giggled again, thanking God that at least if she was actually going to have to do this, the room was dark.

"I can't – it's just too – " Her protests were weakening.

Sensing that she was giving in, Tom grinned wider. "Now you know that it's not right to keep secrets from me now, my love, as we're engaged now…."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced the words out as rapidly as possible, hoping desperately that he'd somehow misheard her. "Youjustsaidsomethingaboutbir thdaytraditionsanditmademeth inkofGrandmamanandhowwhen shewasvisitingonetimesheinsi stedoncarryingonwiththisabsu rdbirthdaytraditionthattheyh aveoverinAmerica."

_There. Hopefully that will satisfy him._

But it didn't. Blue eyes glinted mischievously in the dark. "And what is this said American tradition?"

_Oh Lord. _

"Do I have to start…." Fingers began reaching for her then again.

Shrieking, Sybil looked around hurriedly for something – anything – that might be within her grasp and prevent her from having to do this _with her hand_. In a moment her eyes found it – a white dish towel.

"Fine. You win." She bit her bottom lip then, and tried to subdue the smile that was creeping onto her face. "But you'll have to move first, so I can go get – that towel" she gestured towards the wash basin sitting on the small table. "And you'll need to turn around."

"Turn around?" Tom asked as he stepped back.

She turned then to give him a look like only the Crawley women could.

Reaching for the dish towel, Sybil watched as Tom turned his back to her. Steeling herself for what she knew came next, she pulled the dishtowel back and let it rip through the air.

_Smack!_

Tom yelped a bit, though whether it was from pain or shock she couldn't be sure. Bringing a hand around to his backside, he rubbed it slightly. Turning an absolutely incredulous gaze towards his fiancé, Tom watched as she stood there, the dish towel dangling from one ladylike hand.

"Did you just-?"

Sybil laughed. "It's normally done to children. You're….you're supposed to give the child one for each year…..just like your ridiculous kisses."

"Really." The tone of his voice was not lost on her. "So – as far as I can count, then, you owe me 28 more. And about another 20 kisses or so, too."

Sybil's head fell back then as she laughed and shook her head. "Really Tom, I don't think I can possibly –"

"So you're telling me that your American grandmother marched downstairs and used one of Mrs. Patmore's dish towels to swat her granddaughter across her rump? While the entire kitchen staff watched?"

"Not quite. It was just Mama and Edith and Mary and I – and Papa – in the drawing room, that night after we had birthday dinner. I couldn't have been more than seven or eight…."

Tom's eyebrows raised. "Your father was a part of this?"

"Well, he did make some comment about how it wasn't her place as our grandmother to raise a hand to us, even if it was a so-called American tradition."

Though Tom heard the entire sentence, his mind caught on one word. "You just said hand."

_Shit. I shouldn't have –_

"What of it? It's an expression, isn't it? Raising your hand to a child?" She tried to act as if it were normal, but she could hear her voice tremble a little as her arms moved up to cross across her chest in a defensive position.

"Oh no. That's not what you mean. What you really mean, my dear, is that you should have been using your hand instead of that dish towel." He grabbed it from her then, and threw it across the room. "I suppose that I should be a gentleman and tell you that I'll allow the towel for the first, but I really think you should do the rest properly – being half American yourself, and all," he teased.

"Tom – you can't expect me to – "

"And why not? It sounds like a good tradition to me. And we all know that everyone at Downton is all about tradition…."

Sybil rolled her eyes at this dramatically. _My God, he's handsome. And I get to – to – to marry him – to – _

A thought suddenly crossed her mind.

Reaching up for his necktie, she pulled him close. "How about we call it a debt, for now, and I can pay it later – after we're married – next year…."

Tom groaned as she pulled him in for another kiss.

* * *

"Will I get one of these again next year for my birthday too?" Tom asked as he greedily cut a second piece of cake and placed it on his small plate.

"I suppose. If you're good," Sybil teased back.

"And if I'm not?

"Then I'll cook you dinner, and you'll have to eat every last bite of it," she smirked.

Tom rolled his eyes. "You don't know that you'll be a bad cook. You bake quite well."

"Thanks to Daisy and her infinite patience."

"You could ask her for some lessons in that, too. I'm sure she'd teach you. She adores the ground that you walk on."

"No she doesn't! She just likes having someone to boss around the kitchen, I think. It makes her feel better about having to be pushed around by Mrs. Patmore. She's really quite good at it. I've learned ever so much." As if to prove her point, Sybil inserted her fork into the dwindling remains of her piece of cake.

Tom took a piece and chewed, a thoughtful expression creeping across his face. He swallowed and reached for his cup of tea. "Isn't it odd? Sitting here talking about next year? Next year when we celebrate our birthdays. Next year when we eat cake. Next year when we're –"

Sybil smiled, her cake halfway to her mouth. "Married? It is a bit odd to think about truthfully. Though I suspect you've had far more practice contemplating it than I have."

Tom nodded, his teacup in his hand, just hovering away from his lips. He took a deep draught. "Aye. But I wonder if it makes it sweeter now, knowing that it was all worth it."

"I hope you still think I'm worth it, in another year," Sybil said quietly.

Tom turned a quizzical face to her. "Whatever do you mean?"

Sybil shrugged her shoulders slightly. _A very middle class gesture –_ she could almost hear her grandmother saying. "It's a bit scary, if you must know. You've been in love with me all of this time, staying at Downton, putting your life on hold. But what if it's not what you thought it would be? What if suddenly realize that I'm not worth everything, after all? I don't know that I'll be the ideal wife, Tom. I'll burn your food, I'll probably scorch your clothes, I have no idea how to clean a rug properly, or anything else. You might as well be marrying a toddler, for all the help I'll be when we have our own house."

Tom look at her incredulously. _My God, she's really serious about that! She honestly thinks that I might regret it!_

"Sybil, love, come here." Tom reached out a hand to her across the table.

Her expression was doubtful as she rose from her chair.

"Come here," he said again, pushing his chair back slightly from the table. Reaching for her hand, he pulled her closer to him, and onto his lap.

Sybil's face flushed a bit at this new touch. _I wonder how many ways there are for him to hold me?_ she thought fleetingly.

Abandoning his cake and tea, Tom took her other hand in his as well. "There will never, ever be a day that I will regret marrying you. There may be days when we fight, and days when we both want to throw things at each other. We may hate each other, sometimes. But I will never, ever regret marrying you. Never."

She smiled then, a tiny smile. "I hope not," she whispered.

"You are, Sybil Crawley, my best friend, the better part of me. No matter what life may bring us – and God knows that I can't offer you much – I will always want to share everything I have with you. And I will always be so proud to have you there, next to me, wherever we are, and whatever we do. I promise you that."

Nodding silently, she turned then and reached a hand up to stroke his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking a bit.

Neither said anything for a moment.

Finally it was Sybil who broke the silence. "What will we do Tom, when we go to Dublin? Where do you think we will be, in another year?"

Tom exhaled. "My love, I wish I knew. It's been so long since I've been home, I sometimes wonder if I'll recognize it when I see it again."

"Do you think it's changed that much?" Sybil tilted her head a little to the side and shifted slightly, so she could see Tom's face better.

"After the Rising – I don't know. And I fear it'll only get worse before it gets better," he said, a dejected tone creeping into his voice.

She paused for a moment, biting her lip. "Do you ever wish you had gone back? During the Rising? Would you have, if it hadn't been for me?"

"No." Tom shook his head. "Well – I don't know. But if I had of gone, I'm sure it would have been for naught. There's nothing that I could have done….nothing no one man could have done – at least not a man like me, to stop it."

"Don't say that."

"What?"

"A man like me. Tom, you have a lot to offer. You'll do something great someday, I know you will."

The ghost of a cheeky smile passed over his face. "Is this what I get for telling you all those years ago that I won't always be a chauffeur?"

Sybil smiled, thinking back on the moment. "Don't sell yourself short, Tom. You say you're just one man, and that's true. But I don't agree that you will never be great. You can, Tom, if you work at it. You will change the world, somehow. I know you will."

"Thank you for your endorsement and support, but while you're at it, would you like to tell me how I'll ever manage to do it?" He tried to ask the question playfully, only too aware that they were straddling the edge of a sharp cliff of words and emotions.

"I don't know." Sybil shrugged again, telling her grandmother mentally to stuff it. "Maybe you'll go into politics when we make it to Dublin."

Tom sighed. "Not to contradict you love, but I sincerely doubt that. For all I go on about the glories of Ireland, the truth is that the world is the same everywhere. Those who are rich and powerful go into politics, while the rest of us are forced to do other things. Even if there is a revolution – if we do win our freedom – that's still a big gap to bridge. I doubt I'll ever have the money or the power for anyone to care to listen to me."

"Don't say that. There are other ways, Tom, to have your voice heard. To influence people, and show them the truth. You must know that."

"Like what?"

"How many books have you read in your lifetime?"

Tom gave her a slightly quizzical look. "I have no idea."

"But those books have influenced your thinking, yes?"

Tom nodded, still not quite tracking with her.

"You may not be able to finance a career as a politician, then, but how about a writer?"

Tom turned a doubtful glance to her. "Writing? Sybil – I hate to remind you of this, but my education stopped when I was fourteen. "

"And what of it?" she retorted. "Honestly, Tom. I used to think you were the most arrogant man I'd ever met, but sometimes I think you sell yourself short. Your schooling may have stopped when you were young, but your education certainly didn't. You read more than any person I've ever met. You're intelligent. Well read. You argue well. You could do it. I'm sure you could. You may not be in a position to write a book, but you could write other things, I'm sure. Pamphlets. Articles. Written by a common man, in everyday language, for common men." She paused a bit and then apologized softly. "Not that I'm saying you're common to me." At this she placed a kiss on the end of his nose.

Tom squinched up his features. "Do you truly think I could? Go for a journalist, maybe?"

Sybil smiled warmly. "Well, you are rather good at convincing people to do what you want."

A tiny grin began to appear on Tom's face. "In your case, perhaps. But that could have been my dashing good looks, more than my words."

Sybil giggled. "Yes. I'll just say yes, and leave it at that."

Tom shook his head. He was silent for a moment, and then opened his mouth to speak once more. "Do you – do you really think I could?"

Sybil nodded. "Of course I do. And I will be there to help you….I'm quite wicked when it comes to editing, you know. We should begin now – together – so you're ready when we go to Ireland. In fact, maybe you could send some things ahead, and see if you could get a job before leave."

"Aye." _That might help with your family, a bit, at least. _"Well, I suppose I should find some reason to go into the village then, tomorrow, to purchase some supplies. I've not much ink at the moment," he said, thinking out loud, his brain beginning to spin.

"Before you make any plans for tomorrow, you should open your birthday present." Sybil stood up then. Turning away from the table, she walked back towards the door. It was only then that Tom saw it, a large box tucked underneath an old horse blanket that he kept in the garage.

Bending down, Sybil lifted the box and turned back towards the table, walking quickly back to it.

"There," she said, setting down the rather brightly wrapped box.

Tom looked at her, a shade of uncertainly in his eyes. "What –"

"I know that in the past I've always give you books for your birthday. Well – this year I decided to break with tradition. Perhaps this will be a bit more – useful. It's something that you can use now, and that we can take with us – when we go."

Tom reached for the ribbon she'd tied around the paper. "Sybil, if this is what I think it might be, you really shouldn't have."

She smiled and reached out to put her hand on his shoulder. "Yes, I should. It's something that you should have – that you'll need. And something that I think you want, too," she added.

Pulling back the ribbon, Tom removed the paper from the box. Large bold black letters were stamped across it – _STANDARD TYPEWRITER._

A smile crossing his face, Tom stood then, and before he even opened the box, turned towards Sybil, pulling her into his arms. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, my love. Happy Birthday."

They held each other for a moment, and then Tom pulled back slightly. Looking her in the eye, he was suddenly serious again for a moment. "You know that next year, there won't be money for things like this."

_Does he ever stop thinking about it, worrying that we'll not make it?_ she asked herself.

"Then next year I suppose I'll just have to wrap your cake up then. If you're a good boy, and deserve one, that is," she teased, thinking back to their earlier conversation.

A smug smile crept across Tom's face. "I suppose that will do. Though now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure I already know what I plan to unwrap next year for my birthday."

An eyebrow arched. "Oh really? I've just given you your gift for this year, and you're already planning for the next?"

"Darling, I've been planning for this one for much longer than that." Cocky blue eyes sparkled. "Next year, the only thing I plan to unwrap is you."

* * *

_A couple of notes – When I was looking around online for Irish birthday traditions, the only one that I could find, other than a slew of toasts, was one about holding a child upside down and bumping their head on the ground for each year. As Sybil isn't strong enough to pick up Tom, I couldn't quite see this happening, so I decided that I'm do what Tom would do – substitute with something a little more cheeky! _

_Secondly, I know that I've written Tom to be a bit more timid than normal in bits of this scene. I think, though, that this would have been a very hard time with him – dying with anticipation and happiness, but also second guessing himself that he could provide for her, properly. For all of his arrogance, I think that Tom was, truly, rather afraid sometimes, when it came to Sybil. Remember his disbelief in the garage, when she told him yes (I'm referring to canon – not this piece)? I think that a lot of his arrogance along the way was him trying to convince himself, as well as her, that she loved him enough to go to Ireland with him._


	14. A Second Time in Pants

_This fic was inspired by my rewatching (again – I know) of bits of season one as I gear up to watch season two again before season three premieres in the States. (Not that I haven't already watched every single episode of it twice already…)_

_Anyway…..remember those lovely harem pants?_

_Well…..a few years have passed….and let's just say that our brave feminist isn't quite done wearing trousers yet.  
_

_Just a note in terms of reading - there's a bit of a tiny flashback in the middle of this story. I wrote it in reverse of the normal, meaning that the narrative of it is in italics, where as Sybil's thoughts are regular type. _

* * *

A grin spread over Tom's face the moment he heard the two short raps on his door. _I wonder what brings her out here this morning? She must be headed to the hospital soon. _

Turning from the small mirror, his hands giving one last tug to his tie, he spoke just loud enough for her to hear. "Just a moment."

In a few strides he was at the door, his hand reaching eagerly for the doorknob, pulling the door open quickly.

"Good morning." Sybil was smiling as he opened it, her lips slightly apart, as though she was about to taste something.

And in a moment she was. Pulling her inside and quickly shutting the door, Tom pulled her in for a kiss. "And for what do I owe the pleasure of this early morning visit?" he said quietly, his lips still just a breath from hers.

Sybil grinned and pulled back, breaking the touch. _If we start this now I doubt that either of us will ever make it to our work on time…._ Stretching out her hand to the back of the chair nearby, she began to walk slowly around the small table. "I wanted to ask you to take me into Ripon later."

"Ripon? But shouldn't you tell Carson, and then he can order the motor properly?"

Sybil rolled her eyes as she gazed at Tom over her shoulder. "Yes. I'll do that. I'll go back to the house right now, and ask Carson. I mustn't demean myself by asking the chauffeur myself, of course." She shook her head. "Really, Tom. That's quite the line. We are allowed to speak to you ourselves, you know, at least once in awhile. Mary orders the motor every now and then."

"True." An amused look passed over Tom's face. "So shall I be expecting her at my door then tomorrow morning?"

Sybil snorted softly at the thought. Embarrassed, she brought a hand up to try to mask the noise and cover a bit of her subsequent laughter.

"Shall I tell her how to get the best service? My tricks for convincing the chauffeur to do exactly what I want?" Sybil drew her hand along the back of the other chair now, tracing it slowly with one ladylike finger, a seductive smile on her face.

"Ahem." Tom cleared his throat slightly and tried to wrest his gaze from that little white finger before him. _ I wonder what exactly that finger might be capable of…_

Then his mind abruptly switched gears. A brief vision of Lady Mary in his cottage flashed before his eyes.

He winced mentally. _No. Certainly not. _

"And what do you want?" Reaching for his coat, Tom watched her as she watched him put it on, her eyes lingering on his white shirt, a pretty rose washing across her cheeks. _I wonder if she'll always look at me like that. I wonder if she'll blush like that on our wedding night, when we go to –_

_To – _

Suddenly it was Tom who was openly staring, a hungry look at his face.

_On our wedding night – _

_When we – _

It was a thought that had never been out of his mind, hardly, since that day on the way home from Liverpool. It had been an exhausting day – the fight, the long drive, the rain that fell during the last leg of the journey, a sudden downpour that had wrestled his attention from the woman sitting just behind him to the road, as it turned into a muddy, slippery wash. They'd both used it as an excuse for their foul moods when they'd reached Downton – her with her parents, him with Carson, who made sure to have a word with him before he turned in that evening. It wasn't until much later that night, after he'd dried off and polished the car, when he'd returned to his cottage, that the full enormity of what she'd said earlier hit him full force. He'd been slipping into bed, his mind a bit murky, when it suddenly struck him.

_We'll marry. _

_Marry. _

A sudden vision of Sybil in white, standing in a church before him, passed through his mind.

_My God. She's actually going to – _

_We're going to – _

_To -_

And then came the next thought. _A white dress. _

_The white dress, but on the – _

_The –_

He found himself picturing it again, the same dress, but this time in a puddle on the floor.

_My God, I'm actually going get to –_

_She –_

_We – _

_Holy God –_

"Tom?"

His head snapped up then, from her curves to her eyes, the thought broken.

"Uh – sorry."

Sybil said nothing for a moment, and then gave him what could only be described as an interesting look. "What I want – well – want I will want – this afternoon – what I'll want mostly, at least –" she paused here and smirked slightly. "What I want is to go into Ripon this afternoon, after my shift, when you're home from York with Papa, and go purchase some trousers."

"Trousers?" This wasn't what Tom was expecting. "What in heaven's name do you want those for? Besides, don't you still have your harem outfit? I can't imagine you ever parting with that."

Sybil grinned and looked up at Tom, a sly smile on her face. "You mean the evidence of our first attempt to subvert the social order together?"

Tom laughed. "Hardly! That scheme was all yours, love. I was just your ignorant accomplice."

An eyebrow arched prettily. "Ignorant? That's not a word I ever thought I'd hear the pompous Tom Branson use to describe himself. Clearly I must be mishearing you."

"Pompous? You think I'm pompous?" He crossed his arms playfully across his chest over his now buttoned jacket. "Me? Your humble chauffeur?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Yes, because humble chauffeurs ask daughters of the house to run away and marry them all of the time. Really Tom – you're certainly many things, but humble you are not."

"Whatever do you mean, milady? I am nothing but a humble servant, here to do your bidding…" His voice was losing volume now as he walked around the table towards her, stopping just next to where she stood.

One lingering, toasty kiss later, Sybil was pulling back a bit, enjoying the feeling of Tom's arms around her. She smiled up at him, a broad grin on her face.

"Now why do you want me to take you in Ripon again later? So you can buy trousers for what purpose exactly?"

"My bicycle riding lessons."

"Bicycle riding lessons? Who is giving you those?" Tom asked a bit jealously. "I thought I was to be the only one teaching you about the outside world."

"Really." Sybil's tone was light as she traced a finger across the back of Tom's neck. She smiled as he groaned slightly and tightened his hold on her. "It's only one of the girls at the hospital. I thought it might be useful to learn. She has one, and when I asked her about it, she volunteered to teach me. Something you never did."

"You never asked," Tom whispered, pulling her in for another kiss. "I'll teach you how to do anything you want to learn, you know…"

"Anything?" Sybil whispered as their lips met.

"Mmm." The sound escaped from Tom.

A few moments later they came up for air.

This time Tom spoke first. "I suppose if you wanted me to help you – give you some extra practice - I might be able to fit it in."

"Really. I do know that you're so busy now….trying to find other ways to subvert the social order now that I've been conquered." Sybil nodded to the typewriter sitting on Tom's small table.

"It's all for you, my love."

"I know." She reached forward for one more quick kiss before pulling reluctantly out of Tom's arms. "But I must go now, to the hospital. And you need to get up to the house soon. I know that Papa wants to get an early start this morning on his journey to York."

Tom sighed. _Yes. I have to go spend the rest of my day waiting on your father, imagining all of the ways he'd find to assassinate me if he knew I'd been kissing his daughter in my cottage this morning. Lovely prospect._

"Until tonight, then." Turning towards the door, Sybil walked out of the small cottage slowly, as though each step was a little painful.

"Until tonight." .

* * *

Thanks to a delay in his Lordship's business, Tom didn't return to Downton that night until quite late. In fact he and Sybil didn't see one another again for another three days, between his errands for Lord Grantham and her busy work schedule.

When Tom did see her, though, it was certainly a memorable occasion.

He'd just taken the Dowager home after a visit for afternoon tea. Normally he'd have driven straight back to the garage at the Abbey, but something in the engine had been catching whenever he accelerated during the drive, and he thought he had an idea as to what it might be.

Turning onto a back lane, he pressed his foot on the gas pedal, and felt the motor lurch slightly.

"Damn it!" he cursed softly. "It must be the – "

His eyes shifted from the dash back to the road. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement in the distance.

_Better slow down. Don't want to cause any accidents…_

Reaching for the brake, he pulled the car to a halt.

_I'll just wait, I suppose, until that person passes. _

_Wait – is that a bicycle?_

_I wonder if it might be -_

He watched, a slow smile spreading across his face.

_It couldn't be –_

_Surely – _

As the form in the distance began to move closer, Tom shifted the car into park. _Not point in going anywhere when she'll be here in just a –_

Suddenly, the form served dramatically, first right, and then left, and then right again, and finally left, so swiftly, so suddenly, that it seemed to be losing control. And then it did, toppling sideways, hitting the road, a cry piercing the air.

"Sybil!" In instant Tom was out of the car, running forward, never bothering to think that he could make it to her faster if he was in the motor. "Sybil!" he called again, as he ran towards her.

In a moment he was there, next to her, down on his knees, reaching for her gently. "Are you alright, love? Are you ok?"

A rather dirty Sybil grimaced and moved to sit up. "I suppose so. It all happened so quickly. One moment I was riding along, feeling more confident, and then the next I was swerving and –" She stopped and winced as she pulled her legs round underneath her.

"Are you ok? Did you twist your ankle, or your wrists?" Tom was hovering over her now, his hands reaching to her arms, touching them gently, trying to examine her, though the gesture served to reassure him as well as her that she was indeed fine.

It was only a moment later, when he went to move his hands from her arms to her legs that he noticed something. "You – you're wearing –"

"Trousers. I told you I had to have some. Naomi insisted that I wear them as I was learning, at least."

Tom's eyes widened slightly. Indeed – there were two very distinct, long limbs in from of him, now sticking out straight in front of her. A vision of peacock blue flashed before his eyes. _God, how young must she have been then?_

He glanced at her face, a grin teasing the corners of his mouth. "Are you well?" he asked again, though his voice was a bit cheerier.

"Other than my pride, I'm quite well. Though I don't suppose I will be tomorrow morning." She winced again slightly as she placed her hands behind her back, leaning on her arms to stretch properly.

"Aye. You're going to hurt something awful come…." Tom's voice drifted off as he gazed at her legs again. Suddenly, his eyes lit on her knee, where she'd torn a large chunk from the light brown pants. "You're bleeding!"

Sybil squinted at the tear and then leaned forward again, her hands reaching to pull the fabric back so she could see more of the wound.

"What in hell did I do?" she cursed softly as she examined the wound.

Tom blinked twice in rapid succession. He still was a bit taken aback whenever she cursed.

He looked at the knee again. "Here." Rocking forward onto his knees in order to straighten himself out a bit better, Tom reached a hand into his pocket. "Take my handkerchief. It's clean. We can wrap it and stop the bleeding."

Sybil nodded, reaching out for it.

"Let me."

Sybil smiled slightly. _I'm the nurse, but if you insist - _ She watched, suddenly forgetting her pain, as Tom reached to wrap it around her knee, pant leg and all.

"It'd be better to put it underneath, right on the wound," she offered quietly.

Tom turned to look at her, wondering if she was saying what he thought. His hand moved down to her ankle then, just hovering above it.

"Go on, then." The words were spoken in a whisper.

His hand resting lightly on her pant leg, he began to slide It up her leg. At first he held only the pant leg, but then, as if they had a mind of their own, his last two fingers seemed to suddenly slip from the fabric and reach out for her skin, caressing it as he moved the fabric northward.

He closed his eyes then, for a moment, but then opened them again, deciding that this was something he had to watch happen.

A slight sound escaped Sybil, then, and Tom looked up quickly at her, trying to determine its cause. Pain? Pleasure?

_Maybe a bit of both. The two do rather go together, sometimes…_

As he pushed the pant leg up over her knee, he leaned closer to examine the wound more carefully. It wasn't too bad, though it was still bleeding. Folding the handkerchief into a band, he wound it around the wound, knotting it at the back.

"There."

He looked to monitor the expression on her face again. Instead of finding blue grey eyes, however, he found her staring down at her leg.

Where his hand rested, quite nonchalantly.

_Oh. I suppose I should…._

Raising it ever so slightly, Tom muttered a quiet "I'm sorry."

Sybil laughed low. "No you're not."

He laughed then too, and grinned. "No, you're right. I'm not at all."

As if to prove his point, then, he rubbed up and down on her leg a bit with his hand.

She shivered then, slightly, a bit from the cold, a bit from the delicious thought in her mind.

"Are you cold?" he turned to ask.

"A bit."

A bit reluctantly, he pulled the pant leg back down her pale limb.

"I'm sorry," Sybil apologized.

The blue eyes turned to her, a question in them.

"For your trousers."

Tom furrowed his brow slightly. "My trousers? It's just a bit of dust from the road – there's no trouble," he said, thinking she was referring to the fact that he was on his knees.

"No, for the tear." She brought her hand out to trace the tear with her fingers.

"My….what?" he asked, still not understanding.

He looked down again. Suddenly a light went on in his head.

_Holy Mother of – _

_She's wearing my – _

_Sybil Crawley is quite literally in my…._

"Pants." The word flew from his mouth suddenly, an astounded look on his face.

Sybil, however, was too busy apologizing to notice his flabbergasted look.

"I'm sorry, Tom. There was really nothing else I could do, truly. I know I should have asked….but I didn't have any, and Edith's wouldn't fit, and I didn't have time to take the bus to Ripon and when Naomi insisted that we should begin before the weather turned poor I didn't know what else to do, and since you weren't in your cottage I couldn't ask you if I might –"

* * *

_It had been a bit odd, going into Tom's cottage when he wasn't there. She's tried twice already, when she thought he might be in, but every time she seemed to miss him. By the third time she'd had enough – time was running out, and she was sure that if she continued this, in the middle of the day, someone would see her loitering about and begin to ask questions. So, grateful that Tom didn't lock his door – though she briefly wondered if it mightn't be better if he did – she pushed inside, and walked in._

_It hadn't been long since she'd been inside, but as soon as she stepped across the threshold, it felt different. As if she were walking into something private, something personal, that she had never quite experienced before. _

_She closed the door behind her softly, stepping into the main room more fully. It was much the same as always – the washpan for the dishes to her left, the small table and chairs before her, the bookshelf that she suspected that Tom had added across from her, over by the window. _

_She walked around in the space slowly, letting her hands trail across the table. She found herself looking at things she had never noticed before – the smattering of plates and cups on their shelves, the tea kettle on the tiny stove, the towel hanging by the wash basin. _I wonder if this is how it will be, for us,_ she thought, eyeing a chipped plate. _I wonder if this is how we will live. In a tiny place, with just a few simple things._ She knew that the thought should have bothered her. A lady, born and bred, living in a tiny cottage, _or more likely a flat, if we're in Dublin, _she mentally corrected herself. It honestly didn't, though. When she pictured her and Tom sitting down to a simple dinner at the table each night, cups of tea on the table before them, she couldn't help but smile. _Yes. Yes. This will be fine. It will be right for us – just a simple life, but a life together.

_A moment later, when her eyes lifted from the table, she walked over to Tom's book shelf and ran her fingers along the spines of the books. She could tell which books were newest, compared to those that he'd brought from home. _His one luxury he allows himself. His books. I wonder if that's what we'll spend any extra money we have on too, when we're married._ She smiled. _

_As her hand found the end of his bookcase, though, she found herself standing at a door frame. Her feet stopped, suddenly, her body frozen._

_This was a room that she'd never entered before. There were two only, really, in the cottage. Just the main room, and then this littler room, tucked off a bit to the side. _

_The bedroom._

_Tom's bedroom._

_She glanced around the main room quickly, again, searching for some sort of chest where Tom might keep his extra clothing. Finding nothing, she reached for the doorknob._

Well, if I suppose if you're determined, that you must have them, then you'll have to –

_She didn't even realize she'd sucked in her breath until she heard herself exhale in a whoosh as she pushed the door open and stepped inside. _

_As soon as she was in, she began to chastise herself. _Really Sybil, what did you expect? It's not as though he's here. And it's not as if, my girl, you haven't told him yes. That you'll marry him. That you'll be his wife, in word and in deed. It's not as if you won't soon be sharing his life soon, his bed, his…

_A vision flashed before her eyes, then, of her and Tom in his small bed, their bodies twined together…_

Mmm.

_She would wonder, later, exactly how long she stood there, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes locked on the crisp white sheets peering up from the thick blankets. _

I wonder if he –

When we –

What it will –

Will he –

What will I –

_Somewhere, out of nowhere, three words floated into her head. _

I don't suppose –

_She grinned then, her eyes sparkling. _I wonder what he'd say, the next time I'm here, if I asked to see in here.

I don't suppose we might –

I don't suppose I could –

I don't suppose we could –

_She knew she wasn't that brave, yet. She couldn't. Not until later – not until they had left Downton, at least. She wouldn't give her father the satisfaction of being right, that Tom had seduced her. _

Or that I seduced him, more likely – _she thought, a tiny giggle bubbling inside of her. _I can only imagine how taken he might be if I came one night and suggested that we –

Pants, Sybil. You're here for his trousers. Really, _she scolded herself, trying to make her feet move. When they finally did, though, and she looked briefly at the floor, she could have sworn she saw a pair there, lying next to her chemise._

Really, Sybil. You cannot stay here all day, imagining….

_Another wicked smile, then, when she imagined Tom coming in suddenly and finding her here, in his bedroom –_

Just find them and leave before there's even the chance….

_She turned then, and reached for the drawers of a small chest near to his bed. A brief thought of sitting down on it crossed her mind, but she quickly told herself to stuff it, that she needed to be quick._

_The first drawer she opened held a stack of undershirts, neatly folded and stacked. There were his uniform shirts as well, and a mound of socks, tucked into the corner._

It must be the next down, then_. Closing the top drawer, she reached for the second. _Ah, yes. Here we are. His spare trousers and –

Shit.

That must be his –

His –

Really Sybil. You're a nurse. You've seen plenty of pairs of –

But they weren't his.

_Her hand hovered over them._

Trousers. You're here for –

_She reached in and pulled out both pair, deciding that she should take the ones that were more worn. _Just in case.

_Closing the door quickly, not sure how much longer she could handle staring at Tom's…..things…..she stood and looked around. _

He mustn't know I've been here –

_Then she smiled. _

I wonder what he'd say if I did tell him –

_She grinned. _I'd best save that for the right moment.

* * *

Tom's mind was only half hearing her fast explanation. _She is literally wearing my pants. She is in –_

"I'm sorry. I'll replace them, with a pair that's not torn, if you can take me into town sometime."

_Replace them? Do you honestly think I will ever get rid of those now? Now that you've –_

_Or maybe she'll want to keep them. For further adventures. My God, if that's the case I don't know how I'll be able to sleep at night at the thought…_

Tom had no idea what the expression was on his face at that moment. Suddenly another thought occurred to him. He kept his extra trousers in the drawer right next to his –

_Shit._

_She must have seen –_

_I wonder what colour of red she turned when –_

Then another thought passed through his mind, of a slightly more pleasing nature.

_Or maybe she wasn't quite so put off. Maybe she didn't mind seeing a glimpse of what's under my - _

Sybil was pretty sure that she knew what Tom was thinking, as a rather horrified look crossed his face. When it turned to cheek, though, she flushed, wondering what else he might be surmising about her trip into his bedroom. _ I wonder if he'll be able to sleep tonight, knowing that I was –_

For an instant she found herself wishing she had sat down on the bed, lain her head on his pillow, leaving a long brown hair or two perhaps behind, _just to taunt him a bit. It'd be good for him…_

She smirked slightly and then moved her knee, without thinking of it.

"Ow." She winced.

This brought Tom's attention back to the present.

"Are you sure you're ok?" he asked yet again.

"I'll be fine. I'm just not sure how I'm going to explain myself when I limp down to dinner tonight." There was an annoyed look on her face.

"Can you stand?" Tom asked. "Or shall I carry you back to the motor?"

_Tempting. _Sybil's eyes flashed from Tom's eyes to his arms, and then his chest. _To be snuggled up against him, held tight…. _

A cheeky grin began to spread on her face. Suddenly being just a bit injured seemed terribly convenient.

"I think that might be just the thing to make me feel better."

* * *

Comments are much appreciated, as always!


	15. He Is Now My Fiance

_Sometimes Forbidden Pleasures can come in rather unexpected places. This chapter is much less cheeky, much more serious. (I suppose it's my attempt to interject a bit of actual plot into this fic.) I hope that you approve. The pleasure here is simple and humble, but I suspect that it might have meant more to Sybil and Tom, in this moment, than any other pleasure possibly ever could._

* * *

"Sybil?"

Sybil looked up from the hospital bed she was making. The young man who had been its occupant for the last two weeks had just been moved to the convalescent home that morning. When Sybil had come in for her shift that morning she'd noticed the bed right away. Knowing that she wasn't supposed to be working officially at the hospital for another half an hour, she had decided to take care of it herself.

Her hands continued to move as she shifted her eyes to Isobel's. "Good morning, Cousin Isobel." Sybil smiled warmly. _And to think, if it wasn't for her, I still probably wouldn't know how to do this. How useful this all will be when we're in Dublin._

There was a touch of sadness in the gaze that met her own. "Good morning, Sybil. Thank you for making the bed. It should have been done this morning, after Sergeant Miller left, but things were rather busy…." Her voice trailed off, her gaze drifting to the window. "You'll see him at the house, now, I expect, as he was transferred there this morning, to begin his therapy as he learns to walk again."

Sybil pressed her lips together, all too aware that Isobel was probably thinking of her own son now, and the fact that he would likely never walk again. "Yes," she said quietly, looking back down to the bed.

One corner firmly tucked underneath, Sybil walked around to the other side to begin the next.

"When you are done with that, I'd like a word with you in my office, please."

Sybil turned a slightly befuddled gaze up to her cousin. This was very unusual. There was very little that Isobel ever said to anyone that she thought required privacy. "Of course."

"I'll leave you to it, then." Nodding towards the bed, Isobel turned and walked away.

* * *

It was only a few moments later that Sybil found herself standing outside of Isobel's office, her hand reaching up to knock gently on the door.

"Come in please." Isobel looked up from the paper she was reading. Lying it down on her desk, she folded her hands over it. "And please close the door."

"Yes." The door clicked softly as Sybil pulled it shut. Crossing the small room to stand in front of Isobel's desk, Sybil tried to appear calm, though the storm in her stomach was growing quickly. _Does she want to discuss Matthew? Has Mary done something to him – said something to him? Have I done something wrong? Is she reprimanding me? _

Her thoughts were cut off by Isobel's voice. "Please sit down." She gestured to the chair next to where Sybil was standing.

"I've not had the chance to ask after your trip to Liverpool. Did you have a pleasant time?" Isobel asked.

_All of this to ask me about my trip to Liverpool?_

"I did, thank you." Sybil forced a small smile.

"I'm glad to hear that. You have been working rather hard here. I'm sure the rest must have been good for you."

"Yes, it was."

Isobel broke her gaze, then, and looked down at her hands. Her two front fingers were pressed together now, forming a small steeple.

"Did you take the train, or did Branson drive you?" Isobel's eyes rose again to meet hers again.

Sybil felt her stomach tighten. "Branson took me in the motor." She searched Isobel's gaze for a clue as to what might be coming next.

"Ah." Isobel sighed slightly. "I see." She paused slightly. "You might be interested to know that just this morning, I was paid a call by a woman who I believe you know, Matron Smithers, of the nurses training school in York. She was in briefly, and asked after you. She said that she had seen you in Liverpool, recently."

"Yes." Sybil wasn't entirely sure if she was supposed to speak yet, but the word flew from her mouth.

"She asked after you," Isobel repeated, as though gathering her thoughts, " and mentioned that when she saw you in Liverpool, you were in the company of a young man, whom you introduced to her as your beau. She asked me if he also worked at the hospital. She was very insistent that he must, as he was, I believe she put it, a 'very obviously a working class man.'"

Sybil's hands began to tremble in her lap. Clasping them together tightly, she tried to read Isobel's face, hoping for some sort of clue as to what sort of response, if any, she was expecting.

"I reassured her that he did not." Isobel paused. "As luck would have it, our conversation was interrupted at that moment. We did not have the opportunity to speak again before she left to return to York on the train." A salt and pepper eyebrow arched slightly.

"I am not telling you this because I intend to tell your family about our discussion. However, if the young man who you introduced to Matron Smithers as your beau is indeed the man I believe it might to be, I simply wanted to tell you that –"

Her speech was broken off by a sharp knock at the door. The door began to swing open. "I apologize for interrupting you, Mrs. Crawley, Lady Sybil," Dr. Clarkson nodded to both of the women in turn. "But I would like word with you about Sergeant Miller's condition before I go up to the house today, and I must leave very soon."

"Of course." The words flew from Sybil's lips. Moving to stand, she willed her legs to hold firm beneath her. _My beau. The man I introduced to her as my beau…._ The words were swirling in her mind quickly, nearly as quickly as the contents of her stomach.

"Sybil." It was a command, not a request. Sybil turned her face back to Isobel's, her complexion paler than usual, bright pink spots punctuating her cheeks.

"Please come to Crawley House after your shift this afternoon. We can continue our conversation then. Have Branson bring you."

"Yes, of course." Bobbing her head in a curt nod, Sybil turned to go, her trembling body quickly carrying her to the safety of the hall.

* * *

"I think you're to come in with me." Sybil forced her eyes up to meet Tom's gaze. His hand tightened around hers as she stood in the drive.

"Are you sure?"

Sybil nodded. "She very specifically told me to have you bring me tonight. I cannot think that it was an idle comment."

"Right." Pulling Sybil forward slightly, Tom moved to close the door of the motor behind her.

"She'll not scold us, I don't think."

Tom's eyes closed. _She'll not scold us. Good God, Sybil, you make it sound as though we were children who were caught with our hands in the cookie jar. _

He could feel a bitter retort form in his mouth. _Twenty-nine years old, and still I cannot make my own decisions, for the world to see. Instead I'm about to be brought before a woman I barely know to have her threaten me with my living, to have her threaten us with our future. _

The thought made him feel sick.

He'd not been feeling well, honestly, since he'd dropped off Sybil's lunch at the hospital earlier. She'd forgotten it that morning, and when Mrs. Patmore discovered it was still in the kitchen, she'd sent him down to the hospital with it. She'd looked rather piqued when he saw her then, outside standing next to the car, when she stepped out to retrieve it. He'd inquired as to how she was then, and she'd snapped out a brief response that included the words Cousin Isobel, Liverpool, and beau. His mind immediately began to sort out the different scenarios, weaving more and more elaborate mazes in the hours that followed.

She'd explained things a bit more briefly, if calmly, when he came to retrieve her from the hospital that night. _We're to go now, _she explained, as soon as she'd gotten into the car.

_We._

_At least she's still saying we._

Tom reprimanded himself the moment the thought crossed his mind. _She will be faithful. She will. You must trust her, Tom. After all, this will only be the beginning…_

"There she is."

Tom's eyes snapped up and followed Sybil's gaze to Isobel's silhouette against the window. Dropping Sybil's hand as though it were a hot coal, Tom felt his feet suddenly root in the ground. _No. She's Sybil's cousin. She has no right to – No say over me - I'll not let her threaten us – _

"Ah, Sybil. Please come in. And you too, please, Mr. Branson."

Tom's eyes widened slightly as he heard Isobel speak out into the air. She was standing at the entrance to the house, holding the door open, as though she were a mother in a busy neighborhood calling her children in for dinner.

The gesture was so informal, her tone so welcoming, that Tom's resolve suddenly faded. "Come on, then," he heard Sybil say softly, her feet beginning to move towards the warm light pouring from the front door. Sensing there was no other real alternative, Tom followed her, trying his best to keep a proper distance between them, though he wanted nothing more than to hold her hand, so that they might both draw strength from the touch.

"There. Now, please come in, both of you, and have a seat in the drawing room. Mr. Mosley is at the house with Matthew, and Mrs. Byrd is at her sister's, so I'm afraid it's just a simple tea for us this afternoon. I thought we could take it in here."

"Of course. Thank you." Sybil turned in the small hall towards the room where Isobel was gesturing. Tom stood just inside the door, his hat in his hand.

_She's managed to get rid of any witnesses, at least, _Tom thought.

"You may hang that here, Mr. Branson, on the stand. And your gloves can go on the table."

"Thank you." Tom's accent seemed suddenly thick, even to him.

She watched him remove them, a warm smile firmly on her face. "Thank you for coming with Lady Sybil this afternoon." Her eyes caught his then, and held them.

Much to his amazement, Tom felt the corner of his mouth begin to tug upward ever so slightly. "Thank you very much for the invitation, Ma'am."

"Isobel, please."

Tom nodded once. Turning towards Sybil again, he followed her into the warm drawing room.

It was a simple room, though elegant. _I wonder how much of it is hers, and how much of it is the Crawley's?_ Tom thought. _Is she allowed to decorate her own home, or is she also subject to what they think best?_ Tom's eyes scanned the room quickly.

Isobel followed them in, and gestured towards a small divan across the tea table from a single chair. "Please."

"Thank you." Sybil moved to take a seat on it, nodding to Tom.

_And am I supposed to…._ Tom stood still for a moment, still not entirely sure in what capacity he was supposed to be functioning.

"Yes, that will do nicely for the two of you, and then I'll sit here, so I can pour." With another smile towards Tom, Isobel moved to sit herself.

"Yes, thank you." Tom sat down tentatively towards the edge of the seat, careful to not let himself touch Sybil.

Isobel reached for the teapot and began to pour for Sybil. When she had finished with her cup, she turned to Tom. "And how do you take your tea, Mr. Branson?"

"Tom. With sugar, please. Thank you." Accepting the cup from Isobel, a flash of amusement passed through his mind. _Having tea with the mother of the future Earl of Grantham. It's a good thing I'm a socialist, I suppose. I doubt that anyone else at the house could do this without fainting at the thought._

No one spoke for a moment as Isobel prepared her own tea. After lifting the cup to her lips and taking a sip, she replaced it in the saucer again.

"I do appreciate you both coming this afternoon. I suspect very much that what I began to tell Sybil this morning actually affects both of you. If I am mistaken, then I will need to ask you to forgive me for putting you both in what would then be a rather awkward situation."

Tom watched Sybil as her eyes flitted quickly to his. His head tipped then, just slightly. Sybil, seeming to take this as permission, turned a steady gaze to Isobel. "It does."

"As I thought." Isobel's hands clasped together in her lap. She looked from Sybil then to Tom.

"I do not know what Sybil told you about Matron Smithers comments to me, Tom, but I want to assure you – both of you – " here her gaze turned to Sybil again "that your secret is safe with me. I do not believe that it is my position to reveal any knowledge I may have of your – relationship – to anyone."

Tom blinked. _And that is simply that? She certainly doesn't mince words, does she?_

Sybil exhaled softly. "Thank you for that, Cousin Isobel. We both appreciate your discretion." She turned to look at Tom again, her mask of propriety slipping. "Though there will come a time when I fear that you might rather be placed in an awkward situation. When we tell my parents, that is."

Tom could feel his eyes grow slightly larger. _How much exactly, is she going to reveal? Certainly she –_

Then he remembered that it was Isobel who had encouraged Sybil to go for a nurse, who had helped her to see beyond her world. _Yes, she does trust her. And she should, I guess. It was Isobel, after all, who suggested that Sybil might go for a nurse, might look for a life beyond the bounds of Downton._

"Because the truth is, Cousin Isobel –" Tom looked down as he felt Sybil's hand snaking into his. "The truth is, Tom is no longer simply my – my beau. He is now my fiancé."

There was silence for a moment, and then Isobel finally spoke. "I see." Her response was quiet. Tom found his eyes shifting from Isobel to Sybil and back.

Finally, he found his voice. "Yes. Sybil has agreed to – to marry me."

He wasn't quite sure what prompted the words to fly from his lips. Maybe it was because he was already anticipating the protests that he assumed would follow, the accusations. Nothing, though, no matter how startling, or how sharp, could have ever prepared him for what happened next.

He was so shocked, in fact, that it took him a moment to remember that he should be rising too, as Isobel stood. Thankfully there was nothing in his lap, as he probably would have dropped it in his haste. Neither Sybil nor Isobel seemed to notice his jerky movements, though, as the next thing he knew Isobel was saying "Oh my dear, congratulations," and hugging Sybil warmly.

_Congratulations. She is congratulating Lady Sybil Crawley on marrying me._

_Me._

Tom stood as though a statue as the two women embraced. Inside, he felt a warmth start to spread throughout his body. _Maybe it's not impossible. Maybe they won't all hate us. Maybe they really will, truly, accept us someday._

At that moment, he knew that he would carry an affection for Isobel Crawley until his dying day.

So great was his relief, in fact, that he reached out to brush his fingers against Sybil's arm as she pulled back from the embrace. She turned a bright smile towards him then, completely uncensored.

_That's the first time she's ever looked at me like that, before any of her family. The first time._

"And to you too, Tom." Tom looked down to see Isobel's hand before him. Enfolding it in his own, Tom shook it firmly.

"Thank you, very much," he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

After a moment Isobel sat back down, her eyes lingering on the couple, who were now seated a bit closed on the divan, Sybil's skirt, at least, touching Tom's leg. "I had never thought of it, really, until Matron Smithers spoke to me about meeting you in Liverpool. As soon as the idea was planted, though, it suddenly explained a great deal to me."

Sybil's expression took on a bit of a perplexed shade then. "Are we – is it terribly obvious?"

Isobel reached for her teacup. Saying nothing, she took another drink, replacing the cup in the saucer, but not releasing it. "It wasn't, to me, until today. But it is to me now, of course. I shall not say anything, though. You have my complete discretion." Isobel paused, as though trying to find the proper way to produce her next words. "I must assume, though, that you do intend to tell your family at some point. Unless you intend to – " Her eyes darted from Sybil to Tom, and then back to Sybil.

"No. We will marry in Ireland. We've decided that, already. But we will tell everyone, before we go." Sybil hand reached out for Tom's again now, as though seeking his strength. "We've not told anyone yet – though Mary has known for some time that Tom proposed to me."

"Mary." Isobel's tone changed now. "And she has not – "

Sybil shook her head. "She does not know that I return Tom's affections. She – she came upon us, one time, and confronted me later. I told her simply that Tom had proposed, and – " Sybil broke off.

Emotion flickered across Isobel's face. She turned to Tom now, a steely glint in her eye. "Please don't think me impertinent, Tom, but do you know what exactly this may be like for you?"

A steady blue gaze met hers. She held it. "I am not trying to insult you by suggesting that you are naïve of what may happen. But I do hope that you are well prepared. That both of you – " she looked to Sybil again now, "are well prepared. I can tell you, personally, just what it is like to be at the receiving end of the disapproval of the Crawley family. "

_Yes, she would know, wouldn't she. _Tom's mind slipped back to the many clipped arguments he'd witnessed in the car between the Dowager Countess and Mrs. Crawley. _To say nothing of what Lady Mary has probably poured out onto Mr. Matthew throughout the years._

Tom gripped Sybil's hand a little tighter, his thumb rubbing the back of it, trying to reassure both of them. "Yes. I- we – are prepared for it. As best we can be."

Isobel watched Tom carefully as he said it.

"The worst of it, of course, will fall on you. You'll be branded a scoundrel, a seducer. You'll need to prepare to be shunned by the entire village, you know."

Tom nodded. "Yes." It was curt.

Isobel exhaled deeply and shook her head. "You have chosen a hard road. You will be rejected and scorned, at first, at least." She paused. "I think, though, that it will not last forever. They will, eventually, come around. Your sisters probably first, I think. And your mother." She was talking to Sybil again now. "And Matthew, certainly, I should hope."

She set her tea things down on the table now again, and leaned forward a bit. "And I want you both to know that you will always be welcome here. Wherever I am – at Downton, or anywhere, you will always be welcome, most warmly, wherever I am. You will _both_ be, as my family."

Her eyes caught Tom's again and held them, as though trying to will some of her strength to him.

It was Sybil who spoke next. "Thank you, so very much, Cousin Isobel. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate everything that you have done for me, how you have always supported me, over the years. Had it not been for you, I don't think I would have ever imagined that I would be able to leave someday. I will miss you, greatly, when we are gone."

Isobel smiled widely at this, though there was a watery look to her gaze. "And I will miss you. But you are right to go. You will have a much better chance, there, of starting off your new life, properly, together."

"Yes," Tom added softly.

Sybil turned to him again then, and suddenly reached out and touched her lips to his cheek. The gesture was so sudden, so utterly inappropriate to the actions of a Crawley daughter, paying a call for afternoon tea, that it seemed to catch all three of them off guard a bit. Yet in a moment all three were laughing together, happy to be in a room no longer filled with tension, but with respect and love.

* * *

_I know that many people have rather strong feelings about Isobel, but I've always liked her, and thought that she, more than anyone else, would have been firmly on Tom and Sybil's side. I think there's a reason that Fellows didn't put her in the drawing room that night at Downton – she probably would have stood up and have given Sybil another hug then. _

_I don't know that I'll be posting a Christmas chapter for this fic, though I do plan to with my other, Tom's Memories. I have two chapters in mind for that one, which I hope to get up before the Christmas Special. I don't know if I'll keep writing for that one after Christmas or not...from the preview, it looks like Mr. Branson may indeed be out of mourning after a year. Sigh. Really Fellows? Really?_

_Anyway - Merry (Happy) Christmas to all of you!_


	16. Spices and Serviettes

_Hello! And Happy Holidays to everyone. No, I never got the bit in Tom's Memories written. In my defense I did try, but it just wasn't coming out right. Instead, I've been dreaming up more forbidden pleasures. Don't ask me how Sybil keeps managing to escape her family so often – I have no idea, but then again, she is rather a rebel. All I know is that it's quite fun when she does sneak away! _

* * *

_Dinner tonight, eight o'clock, I'm cooking. (If I don't burn it to rubbish.)_

_XXX_

Tom grinned. Of all the places to hide a note. Yet it had worked perfectly. After all, no one would ever be expected to check the small portable foot warmers in the motors except for the chauffeur. _One way we can pass messages to one another, at least. _The weather was bitter now, and she knew as well as anyone how cold the backseat of a motor could be – _Or not, _Tom thought, suddenly realizing that Sybil had most likely never been in the back seat of a car, unchaperoned, with a man. _Another item for the list, _he thought, warming considerably as he stared at the bench in back.

Eventually he reached for a rag to clean out the coal dust inside of the warmers. Glancing up to the garage wall, where a small clock hung, he checked the time again. A quarter to seven. Just over an hour, and they'd be snug in his cottage together.

_Eating the dinner she's cooked for me._ While a part of Tom hated to admit it, as it seemed a bit chauvinistic, if he was truthful, he loved the thought of Sybil cooking for him. It was just so – domestic. Coming home after work, the both of them, and sharing a meal together.

"Now don't expect any miracles," she had warned him, when she'd told him that she'd convinced Daisy to expand her lessons to include cooking as well as baking.

"You'll do well, I'm sure."

At this Sybil had rolled her eyes. "We'll see."

_We'll see tonight then. I wonder if it really will be horrible. Oh well – I suppose that if it is, I'll eat it anyway. It may be that way, for awhile, when we get to Dublin._

Tom grinned again. Truth be told, he knew he'd eat a steady diet of sawdust and grass when they made it to Dublin, if he had to. _Just to be there, with her, every day and every night…._

_Married._

Tom closed his eyes and tried to picture it again – the sort of flat that they might have. _And the sorts of things we'll be doing in that flat. _Not that the thoughts took too much effort. _God knows I've been having them for long enough._ But everything was different now. Because she had said yes. Because they were going – sometime soon, he hoped. Because it was actually happening.

His mind flashed back to Sybil's cycling adventure, and her confession of having been in his bedroom, searching through his drawers. _And she learns a little more about me…._ Thinking back to exactly what she had most likely seen and learned, the grinned widened and the blue eyes sparkled.

_Thank God we both love to increase our education….._

* * *

"It's like I'm in a cooking school, Tom! Daisy's really been putting me through the paces. It's amazing the things she knows that I don't. I mean – really. How can I go through so many years of my life without knowing the most basic of things? The truth is that if my entire family were all cast out on our own tomorrow, we'd not know how to fend for ourselves. Mary would expire the first time she lifted a bell and no one answered!"

"Which is why your sort can't live without us."

Sybil threw him an amused glance across the table. "We can't live without you?"

"Of course not. In fact I rather think that might be why you're marrying me. I might be only one person, but the truth is, we'll be legally bound, servant and lady, then. You'll have your own personal domestic for life."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Does this mean that you'll be doing my hair each morning, and bringing me breakfast in bed, as Anna used to do on special occasions?"

Tom arched an eyebrow. "Used to? How early are you up now?"

Sybil replied rather tartly. "Four o'clock, when I get a lesson with Daisy."

Both eyebrows came up this time. "My. You're really working long days."

Sybil smiled at this. _Darn right I am. _"Yes. But even though I'm tired, the truth is that I rather like it. It's so nice to have a purpose."

_A purpose. Yes. We are your purpose, and mine too. _

"I do appreciate it, love. You must know that." The words were quiet, firm.

"Yes, I know you do."

Blue eyes full of affection met hers.

_Yes, I believe you do,_ Sybil thought. _ I just hope I can live up to your expectations._

"Tonight's dinner was quite the nice feast." There was a bit of teasing now. A smirk began to form at the look Sybil gave him. "Really."

Sybil giggled. "It was hardly a feast, Tom. Barely dinner in fact – more like breakfast. It was just sausages and some eggs."

This did nothing to decrease the smirk. "And toast. It was quite lovely, though you do have a point about it being breakfast food. In fact…." Tom tried to find an innocent look in his repertoire, but largely failed. "In fact, the truth is that any time you'd like to bring me the same meal for breakfast in bed in the morning you'd be most welcome to. I've heard it can be quite nice."

Sybil's eyes closed as he felt her cheeks warm. _In that blessed little bed, right behind that door – _ When she finally opened her eyes, though, she found herself staring at it.

Willing herself to speak – and think – about something else, she twiddled with cup in her hands. "Do you have a favorite meal, then? Something – besides breakfast - I could ask Daisy to teach me how to cook?"

Tom shrugged. "I rather like potato pie."

A wrinkle appeared on Sybil's forehead.

"I don't suppose you've ever had that, have you?"

Sybil shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"My mam used to make me one for my birthday, every year. There's not much to them – just potatoes and bacon and onions and such." A hand gestured into the air absently.

"And such. That's very helpful," Sybil retorted.

"You've never cooked with such? It can be very strong, if you use too much of it."

At this Sybil picked up the serviette next to her plate and threw it across the table at Tom.

"Really. You're worse than Daisy. As if I didn't have enough to learn already, with her spices and the like."

"Spices? You're learning to cook spices?" Tom teased.

Sybil pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. "No, you git. You cook _with_ spices. Even I know that. And at the rate we're going, I'll know them all soon, too."

"Have you been having lessons in spices? Is that how you stay awake at four a.m., then? A good stiff whiff of garlic?"

Sybil groaned. "Garlic and marjoram and dried mustard and rosemary and basil, oregano, cardamom… I never quite imagined there could be so many."

"Yes, because the food you eat every night is flavored with magic fairy dust?"

"Hush. Daisy's bad enough, trying to hide her amusement that I can't tell the difference between half of them. You should have seen her the other day. She's so determined to make a proper cook of me that she had me blindfolded, in the kitchen, smelling tiny pots of them, one after the other, making me name all that I could."

_Blindfolded. Sybil blindfolded. _Tom's smirk turned into a broad smile then.

She, however, didn't follow.

"What? What are you grinning so happily about?" Her tone was questioning. "Don't tell me that you can find something in that."

Tom laughed. "Whatever do you mean by that? I was just thinking about how you must look, blindfolded." A rather wicked look was full well on his face by this point.

"Is that a look you like? Me, with a scarf tied round my eyes?"

"It does sound rather appealing, if I'm to be honest with you. And I rather think you might like it too, if it was done properly."

"Whatever do you mean Tom? Really. Sometimes you speak in riddles."

"Tongue twisters, even, one might say," he quipped softly.

Sybil gave him an odd look. "Sorry, Tom, but I'm still lost. I'm afraid you're going to have explain a bit further."

He looked down for a bit at the table, before the blue eyes rose again. _How in the world to – _

"You have played blind man's bluff? Or is that too common a game for posh people?"

A hint of indigence crept into her tone. "Of course I have! When we were children we used to play it quite often, for birthday parties and such."

"And how old would you have been then?"

"Seven? Eight? But really Tom, why does it matter? "

"Do you remember it?"

"I suppose…." Sybil said, her voice revealing that she still wasn't following.

"Do you remember how much better you could hear, when your eyes were closed? Or smell?"

"Maybe a bit."

"Then let me ask you this. You do generally close your eyes when we kiss, yes?"

At this Sybil laughed shortly. "You apparently do, if you don't know what I'm doing."

Tom nodded and played with the handle of his tea cup. "Yes. And do you know why I do it? And you do too, I think?"

"Do tell, please." Sybil was amused.

"Focus. When you shut off one of your senses, the others sharpen into better focus in compensation."

Sybil said nothing for a moment, thinking back to that dark park in Liverpool. _He does rather have a point._

Then she turned back to the conversation. "Should I take this to mean that you were playing blind man's bluff when you were older than eight?" She cleared her throat rather noticeably.

Tom examined his cup in great detail. In a moment, she was laughing, and he was now the one turning slightly rosy. Eventually, he looked up again and met her eyes with a somewhat chagrined expression.

Sybil's eyes widened. "Or were you eight?" she asked, a bit of incredulity in her tone.

"Eight? Whatever do you mean?" Another failed attempt at innocence.

Sybil put her cup down on the table then. "Were you _eight_ when you kissed a girl for the first time?" _There's no way. It can't be._

Tom winced slightly. _Oh God. Here we go._ "Maybe."

"Maybe? Maybe as in yes, or maybe as you were fourteen and you're just leading me on, or maybe as in you were actually even younger?"

"Six. Though I was technically almost seven. But I didn't properly kiss anyone until I was much older." The words rushed faster as he kept talking.

"Older being…."

"Thirteen?"

"Thirteen years old and you were putting your tongue down the throat of some young –"

Hands waved in front of her. "No – well – maybe – yes - but –"

"Oh God." A hand came up to cover her eyes. "And here I sit, a full twenty years old and never having kissed anyone until Liverpool…" An eyebrow arched as her hand moved aside and her eyes opened again. "Do I even want to know how many girls – women – you've kissed since then?

A piece of dark blonde hair fell onto his forehead as his head shook vigorously_. No. Not that I could probably remember all of them if I tried. And for God's sake, whatever you do, please don't ask if I've - _

Sybil's eyes closed and she breathed out heavily.

"But there was no one. From the time I came. Absolutely no one, but you."

A smile played on her lips as her eyes opened again. "You waited four years to kiss _me_." There was a little more emphasis on the last word, as though she was trying to make herself quite believe it.

He nodded happily, his expression full of love.

Sybil smiled more broadly then. Turning her head slightly to the side, she batted her eyelashes playfully. "And was I worth the wait?"

Tom groaned loudly.

They both started to laugh then.

And then they were back to their earlier bit again.

"You do close your eyes." It was a statement, not a question.

This time she nodded. "Yes – mostly." A vision of the starry Liverpool sky filled her mind.

"And?"

"I guess I never really thought about it. But I'm sure you're right. It does make it a little more intense. And you should know, of course since you have so much experience in these things," she teased.

"Well then."

"Well then what?"

"We should put it to the test. Just to make sure we're right."

"What?" Sybil looked around then, not sure quite what Tom had in mind.

"If kissing – or other things – are better with your eyes closed."

"Are you intend to keep my eyes closed how?"

A hand raised then, dangling her serviette.

_Ah. So that's what he meant with blindfold. I wonder – _

Walking around to where she sat, he moved to get her chair for her. When she stood she was smiling, her hand tucked in his. He thought for a moment that she might kiss him then, but she made no move, only standing still, an amused smile lingering on her pink lips.

Taking the serviette and folding it crisply on the table, Tom lifted it to her face. Standing behind her, he tucked it around her eyes and tied a neat knot at the back of her head. "There."

A small foot tapped on the bare wooden floor of the cottage. "Ah, yes. The world is much different already. However if I wanted to be in the dark, I really think I had only to walk out the door," she teased, trying to sound calm, though her heart was starting to pick up its pace at the prospect before her.

A brief kiss was deposited on her lips then. _I'm surprised that didn't last longer, _she thought to herself. _But God knows that he's the one in control here…. _She felt a shiver run through her then, her anticipation growing.

And then suddenly, another instant, there were lips at her ear, blowing softly on the tiny curls that had escaped. _Whoosh._ The breath was warm.

"Mmm." _Ok. Never mind, _Sybil thought, her toes curling inside of her shoes.

And then the warmth was gone, just as quickly as it had begun. Before she could stop herself her head turned, ever so slightly, to where he had just been.

_Where did he go?_

This time there was a voice, coming from behind her. "Don't worry, love. I've not gone far." He still waited a moment, though, before touching his nose to the skin there, just in back of her ear. Nuzzling it gently, he paused another moment before replacing it with his lips.

_Oh my. Yes. Yes. Yes. _Sybil gasped softly, her hand reaching out blindly for him. As soon as it moved, though, she stilled it, frozen, out in the air. _Best not, as you can't see what you might touch, my girl._ Her face was flooding red now, though if it was from her thoughts, or from what Tom was doing to her neck, she wasn't' sure.

_And what exactly was he doing?_ Sybil tried to picture it in her mind. There was a finger, trailing along the edge of her collar, tugging at it slightly. And then lips – moving from behind the ear down a bit, leaving a slick trail behind as it kept moving towards the back of her neck.

_And his tongue, then…._

She breathed out deeply now, inhaling and exhaling with increased strength and speed.

A hand came around then, to the other side of her waist. "Doing alright, there, milady? You seem to be having trouble breathing" he teased quietly in her ear.

Her only response was a sound from somewhere in her throat.

There were more kisses on her neck then, each one growing a bit in length and intensity, as he made his way around her. They lasted for several minutes. And then suddenly he stopped, just as quickly as he had started, pulling back.

"Tom – " There was a plea in her voice.

"Yes, love?" he asked, his fingers hovering just above her, as he stood before her front, a question flitting through his mind.

"Tom – where – " She stepped forward now, reaching her hands out for him, elbows carefully bent.

_My. She really does want me. _

He grinned, terribly pleased. _I suppose that's my answer then._

Slightly trembling fingers rose to her throat again. Caressing the white skin there for a moment, he then brought them just ever so slightly down, to rest on the first button of her uniform. In another moment it was undone, and just a bit of skin there revealed.

He watched as her lips parted, a gasp escaping from them. Tracing his finger tip ever so lightly along the small hollow of her throat, he caressed her there, first with his finger, and then with his mouth, feeling the buzz of the groan that sprang from her through the white skin there.

She seemed to sink into him then, pushing her body forward to meet his, as though to let him to taste more of her. He smiled against her throat, letting himself linger there for a few moments, his tongue trailing up and down.

_And now for the tease. _This time he was the one who groaned as he forced himself to pull away.

Sybil, though, was not going to have this.

Stepping forward swiftly, this time not seeming to care that she couldn't see anything, she reached out her hands to pull him back to her. As she brought his lips to hers, pressing herself against him as hard as she possibly could, she somehow found the control to hesitate for just a moment.

"Tom – "

"Yes, love?"

"These serviettes go to Dublin."

* * *

_As always, thanks for reading! I have a few more pleasures floating around in my mind (including that shoulder injury - don't worry YC!), but would love it if you have ideas for any more that you'd like to see. Drop me a note in the comment or pm me. _

_Happy New Years!_


	17. Cold and Cuddles

_This fic is completely fluffy, inspired by my undying love for snow and winter coziness. And I just had to make Sybil trip – I've been reading a lot of Love Within the Hour lately, an adorably funny fic by aussiegirl97, in which Sybil is always tripping about and Tom is catching her. It's too cute – check it out if you haven't already!_

_For ShanaRose - with hot chocolate to come soon._

* * *

"Hello, darling. I'm home."

Blue eyes looked up from the book he'd been holding. _How in – _

She stood just inside the door, her nose pink from the cold, the skirt of her uniform still damp from the snow.

"Do you mind if I just take off my boots and leave them here?" she questioned casually, looking at the clearly befuddled man sitting at the table before her. "Or would you prefer me to put them to dry before the stove?"

"Wherever you wish," he said slowly, his hand reaching down automatically for the slip of ribbon (one she'd left in a book they'd both read one time) he used to mark his place. Standing, he continued to stare at her with a rather confused look. _Did Carson mean for me to go fetch her? _"Did I miss something?"

Sybil looked up from her boot, which she was currently untying, her fingers tangling with the long, wet laces. There was a smile on her face. "No. I was just sent home early from my shift, and as I figured that no one would be expecting me for another three hours…."

Tom's brow furrowed. "You walked back from the hospital? In this?" His gaze turned towards the window, where big, wet snowflakes were dropping down rapidly.

"Yes. I'm not going to melt in the snow, you know." _I'm tougher than I look._

" I'd have come if you'd called – "

Sybil let out a disgusted sigh as she pulled off her second boot. "Called whom? Carson? Who would have then told you to come and fetch me, which would mean that he would know you were coming to get me, and then I'd have to go inside right away?" _Really, Tom,_ her tone scolded him.

_That makes sense, I suppose. _Nodding dumbly, Tom moved around to stand next to Sybil. "Here, let me," he said, reaching for her heavy wool coat, nearly soaked from the snow.

She nodded her thanks, and began to reach for the pins to undo her headscarf, which was soaked through.

Pulling a chair over in front of the stove, he hung the coat over it. Before he could turn back to her, though, he felt cold hands snaking under the edge of his wool waistcoat.

"You're warm," Sybil purred in his ear, her hands now fully under the dark green fabric.

Tom shivered. "And you're not," he whispered, turning his head back as far as possible to try to see her.

"No." Her hands are moving higher now, their cold cutting through the linen of his shirt. Up, down, around –

"Sybil!" Tom yelped, her hands hitting two rather sensitive spots on the front of his chest.

"What?" she giggled naughtily. "I just wanted to warm up my hands – "

He tried to turn around now, her hands sliding around his torso at the movement. Turning to face her, he leaned in for a kiss.

"Mmm."

Several minutes later he finally pulled back, a cheeky grin spreading. "You know, my hands get cold sometimes too. Does this mean that I can come find you the next time they do, and slide them up under your uniform?"

Sybil's eyes closed, slightly embarrassed laughter teasing from her mouth. "Maybe."

"Maybe? Hm. That sounds like a yes." The blue eyes were now officially wicked.

"Maybe," she mewed again, knowing she should say no, but not quite able to do it, too taken by the thought of what _that_ might feel like.

Another kiss. But this time Tom's hands were running down her, past her waist, onto her thighs, hands efficiently wrinkling the fabric there upward, tugging at her skirt.

"Tom!" she shrieked again, pulling back, her hands going down to swat at his. "Really! I can't trust you!" In another moment she was running around the table from him, Tom in close pursuit, both of them laughing, breathless, cheeks pink.

_Do I want to win this race? But wouldn't it be more fun to lose?_ Sybil's mind was racing ahead of her feet as she tripped around and around the small table. _My God, I just want him to catch me and carry me off - _ Her eyes fell on the outline of the bedroom door as she passed it. _Keep going!_

She turned her head back, then, to watch him. He was grinning madly, his normally slicked back hair starting to fall forward onto his forehead.

So intent was her gaze that she didn't see the chair in front of her. "Oof!" she exclaimed, her foot catching on it and tripping her. Hands out if front of her, Sybil felt herself start to free fall for a moment in the direction of Tom's tiny stove.

"I've got you."

Strong arms wrapped around from in back of her, and her body weight automatically shifted. "There," Tom said, as she rocked back into him, her full weight pressing against him.

"Oh," Sybil breathed out, her heart suddenly racing at the thought of what could have happened. Looking back to the small, dark, hot stove again, she cracked a small smile. "I guess I was rather desperate to get warm."

"That's not the way to do it, love," Tom said softly, his mouth settling on her hair. His arms crossed across hers, wrapping her tightly, he rubbed his thumbs gently on her limbs.

Sybil's eyes closed for a moment. She knew she should pull herself up again, that she shouldn't let herself lean against Tom quite so much. But she couldn't bring herself to actually do it. His body was so warm behind hers, so strong, so hard.

Smiling to herself, she waited a moment before breaking the silence. And when she did, her voice trembled ever so slightly, her emotions running high.

"Thank you," she whispered, bringing her head around so she could see him out of the corners of her eyes. "For saving me." She paused and licked her bottom lip. "Again."

"God, Sybil – " And then Tom was turning her and kissing her again, his mouth warm and heavy on hers.

Sybil leaned into the kiss, drinking in his taste and the caresses of his mouth. _How did I possibly wait this long for him? How did we make it, all those years, without something happening, causing us to break – _

She could have stood there forever, and very likely might have, had she not shivered again, rather violently, mid kiss. Her abrupt tremor caused Tom to at first grip her tighter, drawing his head back, asking, "Are you ok, love?"

She nodded dumbly. "I just – it was quite cold coming back, I guess. I'll get warm – eventually."

A concerned expression flitted across Tom's features. "Not like this, you won't. Here. Wait just a moment while I – "

Untangling himself from her arms, Tom walked briskly towards the door of his bedroom. Sybil watched, her eyes widening slightly, as he casually turned the knob and opened the door. Her feet felt as if they were suddenly nailed to the floor. He walked into the room, stepping to the side of the door frame, thereby allowing her better to look inside.

_Not that I haven't been in there - _ she scolded herself. _But this is still different._ And it was. Because last time she'd been out here, and his bed – _his room, _she corrected herself mentally – was before her eyes, she had been there alone. _But not now. Now he's here with me, and if I'm thinking about it, he surely must be too…._

She watched silently as he moved around the bed, and began to tug at the blankets on it. A couple of swift pulls and they were free at one side, and then on the other. _He's bringing his bedclothes out here, his blankets, to wrap me in – _

_Just as he wraps himself up in them – _

_Every night –_

_Every cold and wintery night –_

_Like last night – _

_In his bed - _

Sybil was warming quickly.

When he came out of the room he was carrying two blankets, a pillow, and a thick jumper that she'd never seen before. Stepping over towards her, he stopped before the small but overflowing bookcase that ran along one wall. "Here. It's a bit warmer here. This side of the stove puts out more heat, for some reason, and the books along the wall help insulate it. We can either pull a chair over here, or I brought a pillow if you wanted to sit on the floor, with me, here on the rug." He gestured to a small blue throw rug that Sybil had never noticed before.

She looked up at pleading blue eyes. _Please – it's the best I can do. I know I don't have anywhere, properly, where we can sit together – no comfortable chairs, no divan, but – _

"And a jumper. My mam knitted it and sent it to me last Christmas. It's probably the warmest thing I have. "

"Thank you," Sybil whispered, reaching out for it. _He's always willing to give me everything he has, no matter what it is. He'll be such a good husband, so conscientious, so selfless. _ She tried to give Tom a smile full of courage, in the attempt to buoy his. _He looks suddenly like a scared child –_ she thought, her heart turning at how badly he obviously wanted to please her, to take care of her, in whatever humble ways he could.

"I know it's not – " he started to say.

Her hand reached up, though, and stilled his lips. "Thank you. It's perfect. Everything is – you're – perfect."

Taking the sweater, Sybil examined it quickly, and then put her arms inside, next reaching up to stretch the neck a bit to fit over her head and her large knot of hair. "I don't want to stretch it," she mumbled from inside the creamy cloud as she struggled to pull it over her head. Rummaging around a bit inside, she finally pulled it down over first her forehead and face, and then her large bun. "There," she smiled.

Tom grinned back. "I'm not sure your hair survived very well. I'll have to ask Ma to make the next one with a bigger neck, I guess." He chuckled softly as Sybil's hand reached automatically to feel it. Her hand hit a pin that was precariously dangling after its passage through the jumper's neck. "Bugger," she cursed, as the pin hit the floor and a curl tumbled loose.

"I can never manage to figure out exactly what Anna does when she – "

Sybil stopped, suddenly aware of the look on Tom's face. Gone was the cheeky look, now replaced with something closer to awe, or reverence.

"Please – Can I –"

He reached up for the curl, caressing it with the tips of two fingers.

Sybil shivered again, giving him a questioning look.

"Come here." Not knowing quite what Tom was asking, but supposing there was a way to be much warmer still, Sybil tugged on his hand and nodded to the floor. Settling herself down on the rug, she smiled as Tom knelt down in front of her, wrapping both blankets around her.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked, his hands rubbing up and down her arms over the blankets.

She shook her head. "No. Just – come here – " Drawing and arm out, she held the blanket open in an invitation. "You – you must be cold too," she whispered, an invitation in her gesture.

"Aye," he replied quietly, reaching for the blanket and pulling it around himself as well. Instead of sliding on her shoulders smoothly, though, it seemed to catch on something.

"Ouch!" Sybil whimpered. "My stupid hair – " She reached up to find the blanket caught on another half-dislodged pin. "Sodding…. If I could only figure out what in the world Anna did with it this morning, I'd take it down this instant," she muttered, half to herself.

Tom's eyes flickered from her face to her hand. "Can I, please?"

An eyebrow arched. "What?"

"Take it down – it's just that I've always wanted to – to see you with your hair down – " Tom trailed off, suddenly a little bit embarrassed.

_So that's what it is._ Her cheeks warming slightly, Sybil smiled. "Of course."

Tom continued on a little nervously. "I suppose it's because that's how a husband sees his wife, when they're alone, together."

Leaning forward slightly, Sybil placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Please. I – I'd like you to see me – that way."

Turning slightly, she shifted her legs to the side. Extricating himself from the blankets, Tom knelt behind her, this time, first one hand, and then the other, reaching up to caress the knot of dark hair in front of him. He reached tentatively for a pin where he saw one, and tugged, not quite sure what would happen. At first there was nothing, but then as he saw another and pulled at it gently, a wave of hair fell down, and then another. Slowly, one by one, he pulled the pins, releasing streams of shining brown that pooled together, creating waterfalls of tendrils. As the last pins slipped free, Tom reached to bury his hand in the warm brown.

Sybil sat quietly, a smile playing on her lips, as she enjoyed his caresses. His fingers running through her hair, combing it with his fingers, letting the heavy waves fill his hands. And then came his lips, first brushing against her hair lightly, but then burrowing his face in it, his nose peaking through to run along her neck. She could hear him breathing, a bit heavy, then, drowning in the silky brown darkness.

She closed her eyes then, and imagined the same scene playing out, this time as they sat on a bed. Her in a white gown, him in a pair of pyjama pants, his shirt off, sitting behind her, his hand trembling as he reached out to caress her. First her hair, and then her skin. _And then we'll make love,_ she thought.

Her body was growing very warm now. She mentally shook her head at her thoughts. _We need to leave soon. I don't know how long I can manage this….this covert love affair. All I want to do is be out here, with him, every minute of the day and night._

Finally, many kisses later, Tom drew her hair to the side and rested his chin on Sybil's neck. "Are you warm yet?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes – though it could still be better." _We could be married, warm in bed together, under the blankets. _She looked down at the heavy blanket on her arm. _Just like these. Just in there – _She looked up then, towards the small bedroom again, where the door was still open.

_Must make do as best we can, then, for now, I suppose. _ And with that she opened her arms and drew the blankets back. "Come under here, please, with me. Hold me."

"My pleasure." Sinking down, Tom reached for the pillow that was sitting on the floor still. Resting it on the bookcases behind him, he pulled the blankets from Sybil and wrapped them around his own back, and then reached to pull her gently back against him. Following his lead, Sybil pushed herself backwards, settling herself between his spread legs, her back against his chest. Two arms reached forward and engulfed her, the blankets large enough to cover them both. He leaned back then, against the pillow, pulling her back with him, so that most of her weight was there, on his chest, as though the two bodies were nearly melting into one.

Sybil smiled, at once satisfied and not. _That is much better, though. God, I don't want to leave tonight._

Determined to make the best of the remaining time she had, though, Sybil snuggled tightly against Tom. "This is nice," she said softly, settling in. "Just like how a husband holds his wife."

* * *

_Now – go find your love and grab a blanket for some cuddling!_


	18. Let Me Hold You

_With this story, I officially join the ranks of S/T shippers who are out to injure Tom in ways that we don't quite understand. I have made him sick once before, in a one shot called In Sickness and In Health, but this is a bit different, as I've never actually seen the injury described below, and am not quite sure what would have been the proper treatment. That being said, I see Isobel as the sort who would take any medical emergency into her own capable hands quite readily. (Do you see why she had to know now? Ding ding ding!) Anyway – another – __**very**__ – forbidden pleasure._

_For The Yankee Countess, who has been waiting for this one a long time!_

* * *

"Mrs. Crawley? I wonder if I might have a word?"

Sybil heard Mrs. Hughes voice faintly, but she didn't pay much attention to it. While it was certainly not common for Mrs. Hughes to ask Mrs. Crawley to speak to her, it also wasn't as though it had never happened before.

"So then the Major asked if…." Sybil looked at her sister as they continued walking through from the dining room to the drawing room. She nodded her head in Edith's direction, hoping that she was giving the impression of listening, even if her mind was occupied with other things.

_And it always seems to be,_ she thought. Indeed – it hardly seemed anymore if she was ever thinking of anything – or anyone – but Tom and their upcoming move and marriage. _Which quite miraculously no one seems to have an inkling about,_ she continued in her mind.

She wondered, sometimes, if this all would have happened, had it not been for the war. _Would Tom have ever proposed, if he didn't see me ready to make such a big life change? Would I have even considered it if he did, not knowing anything beyond my little existence at Downton? Would we have felt that sense of urgency, that we had to live for now or risk everything disappearing in a moment's notice? Would I have been brave enough to love him?_

A memory flashed before her, then, of a young girl at a garden party, suddenly reaching out to grab the hand of the handsome man next to her.

_Yes, _ she supposed so, remembering the ecstasy she'd felt in that simple moment, so long ago. _Yes, I do think we would have fallen in love anyway I think we were already, a bit then. _

The ghost of a smile passed over her face.

"It's Mr. Branson. I'm afraid he's injured his shoulder, and is in quite a lot of pain. I tried to call Dr. Clarkson, but he was out, so I wondered if I might impose upon you to look at him before the evening is over."

Sybil's head whipped around towards the direction of where Cousin Isobel and Mrs. Hughes were standing. No longer hearing, or caring, what Edith was saying, Sybil felt her feet root into the floor. Panicked eyes, momentarily laid bare, met Isobel's across the room.

"Yes, of course I will. Right now. And I think I'll have Sybil come with me. She'll be a great assistance to me should I require any help."

Sybil felt herself exhale slightly. _Thank God we told Isobel,_ she thought. _Or rather, thank God she learned about us, rather, I guess. If I had to wait here, inside, not knowing what –_

Sybil could feel Mrs. Hughes eyes land on her. Willing her cheeks to cool and her eyes to calm, Sybil nodded. Walking at what she hoped was a normal pace, she turned towards Isobel and Mrs. Hughes.

"Yes. I do want to be a help." She tried to appear calm, though her stomach was churning.

_What did he do? How did he hurt himself? She said that it was something with his shoulder? What in the world might have happened, that he – _

Visions of broken bones and blood swirled through her mind. _Please God, let it not be something permanent, something serious. Let it not be something that would make him unable to use the arm, to write, to be able to type. He needs every limb, Lord, everything – please don't make his life harder than it already is. _

Isobel, sensing Sybil's anxiety, turned to make the proper excuses. "Edith, I believe your mother has already gone in with Mary. Please tell her that Sybil and I are going out to see Mr. Branson and examine his arm."

"Of course. And I'll be happy to drive you home, as well, when you're ready to leave."

Isobel smiled. "Thank you, Edith. You are so generous with your talents." She turned towards Sybil. "Now we should get our coats and go out to Mr. Branson."

_Coats. Yes. It would be proper to put one of those on, I suppose,_ Sybil thought. _Thank God Isobel's here. I fear I would just run out there right now, with no thought of anything, if I was here by myself. Then there'd be no secret at all._

Thank God, Isobel was not the sort to wait when a task needed to be performed. Taking Sybil's arm gently, she steered her towards the closet where the coats were kept – "Don't worry Mrs. Hughes, we know where they are," and handed Sybil hers. In another moment they were walking down the servants' stairs, and out the door into the cold, the night dark and cloudy.

_Please God, let Tom be alright. Please God, please God. _Sybil's heart beat out a steady tattoo in time with her feet as she, Cousin Isobel, and Mrs. Hughes crunched across the gravel drive towards the garage, and Tom's cottage. _Please God, please God._

"How did he injure himself, exactly?" Cousin Isobel asked, her voice steady and matter-of-fact, though perhaps a bit louder than it needed to be.

"I believe he was helping one of the groom's with the horses. With so many staff having gone to war, nobody manages to do just their own job around here most days. I'm not sure what happened, but the groom came running into the house just as the dessert course was about to be served, saying that Mr. Branson had injured his shoulder, and was in terrible pain."

"I wonder if he dislocated it." Isobel turned a quick glance to Sybil. "That can be terribly painful, but there's often no permanent injury, if the shoulder is set back properly before too long, and there's no muscle damage."

_No permanent damage. Oh, please God – _

"Have you seen such an injury before, Sybil?"

Sybil felt Isobel's hand on her arm then, her tone slightly anxious.

_She's trying to prepare me._

Sybil nodded. "Once, at my training in York. He was a soldier who had lost a leg. He fell one morning, coming down the stairs, trying to accustom himself to the use of his crutches. I got to see the doctor put it back in place." She shuddered slightly, remembering how the man screamed in pain when it happened.

"Yes. Well, I suspect that tonight you'll learn to do it yourself." Cousin Isobel stopped then, just in front of Tom's door. Holding Sybil's gaze for a moment, she placed her hand on the door knob, and slowly turned it.

When all three women stepped into the room, their eyes immediately fell on Tom. He was sitting at the small table in the middle of the room, his livery jacket off, but his waistcoat and shirt still on. _Trying to retain some sense of propriety,_ Sybil thought vaguely, glancing towards Mrs. Hughes. _And trying to stay warm, too. _There was a glass before him, and a bottle of whiskey, which she suspected he'd filled a couple of times. In his right hand he was clutching at a small towel tightly, as though he was willing the pain out through his clenched fist.

His left arm hung limply at his side, looking a bit off. _That must be what it is, _Sybil thought, her minded a mix of fear and thankfulness. _Thank God it's not his dominate hand, at least. Hopefully we can help him here, now, without having to take him to the hospital._

Glancing up once quickly to check on where Mrs. Hughes was in the room – _still standing by the door,_ - she found herself suddenly standing right next to Tom, her fingers nearly reaching out for him.

Cousin Isobel shed her coat quickly over the other chair and turned to Tom. "Mrs. Hughes tells me that you were helping one of the groom's. Tell me exactly what happened, please, Mr. Branson."

Tom nodded once, a tiny grunt coming from his lips at the movement of his body. "Once of the horses was rather spooked, and we were trying to get her back into her stall. I was holding her rope and suddenly she yanked quite hard, and my shoulder made this terrible sound and the next thing I knew I was in a great deal of pain and couldn't move it."

Isobel nodded over Tom's head to Sybil. "Yes. I think it's probably dislocated, Mr. Branson. Sybil, please help Mr. Branson out of his waistcoat and shirt. It'll be easiest to do this if we can see it clearly."

Before she finished speaking, Sybil's hands were already reaching down to the double row of brass buttons on his livery, her fingers flying from one to the next. She could feel Tom's eyes watching her as she did it.

_Hardly the circumstances in which I thought I might be doing this, someday,_ she thought wryly. _Hopefully next time is a bit happier._

His eyes, though, were not the only ones that were slightly widening as they watched the process as the youngest Crawley daughter removing the clothes of the family chauffeur. "Mrs. Hughes!" Cousin Isobel spoke sharply, breaking the housekeeper's gaze. "You might try looking for some towels to warm. We're going to need to heat some water so we can soak towels in them, to put on Mr. Branson's shoulder afterwards. The heat will help the muscles relax again."

"Of course." This command put Mrs. Hughes into motion, her back now to Sybil and Tom as she bustled for towels and the largest pot she could find for hot water.

Isobel, in the meantime, was removing her gloves. "Now I'm going to have to examine your shoulder, Mr. Branson, which may hurt quite a bit. But I must see if it truly is dislocated, so I can help you."

By this time Sybil had divested Tom of his waistcoat, and was nearly done with the buttons on his shirt. He grimaced as she pulled it off his arm. By the time she made it to his undershirt, she was kneeling in front of his chair, her hands stumbling slightly, as she watched his white skin covered by a trail of dark brown hair start to appear. _Just like at the lake,_ she thought vaguely, the memory surfacing in the back of her mind.

She looked up at him, then, finally allowing herself to hold his gaze for a moment. His expression was strained, sweat rested on his brow, and his forehead was wrinkled into tense lines. His eyes seemed darker than normal, and his cheeks were flushed. His mouth was a firm, straight line, his lips pressed together tightly.

_Probably trying to bite back a groan_, Sybil thought, watching him closely.

The lover in her wanted to reach forward then and drop a soft kiss on those lips, as a way of comforting him. And had it just been Isobel in the cottage, she probably would have done just that, confident in the knowledge that while such affections were hardly allowed in public, Isobel would easily forgive them. Mrs. Hughes presence, though, was enough to hold her back, though she still found herself reaching out to Tom's knee to press on slightly as she rose back to her feet again.

There was a warning in Isobel's eyes when Sybil looked over to her. _Shit,_ Sybil thought, as she pulled her hand back, glancing to Mrs. Hughes and then to Tom rapidly, trying to apologize to him with a quick glance. _I shouldn't have – she could have seen – but I really wanted to-_

"Now," Isobel said, bringing Sybil's gaze back to Tom's misshapen shoulder. "Look at the way his arm hangs, here, limp. The ball of the shoulder has come out of the socket. We'll need to put one arm here, and another here, and thrust it quickly and hard, to get it to go back into place properly."

Sybil could feel her head nodding. Tom, she knew, was watching them both carefully. _Probably wondering how much this is going to hurt, _she thought.

"Now Sybil, I want you to put your hands right here, and then here, so you can feel exactly where the issue is. This is actually a very common injury, and while I know you've seen one before, I want you to be able to feel it yourself, in case you ever have to do this again."

Cold hands met cold skin then, and they both jumped at the touch. "I'm sorry," she muttered softly, not sure if she was apologizing for the pain she was currently causing Tom, or for the even worse pain she was about to cause him.

Tom said nothing, his eyes riveted on the hands on his shoulder.

Knowing that both Mrs. Hughes and Isobel were watching them closely, Sybil tried to remind herself that her touch needed to be that of a nurse, not a lover, though her thumb was aching to smooth the skin there gently, trying to provide at least a bit of comfort.

"Now. Mr. Branson, I'm going to put my hands over Sybil's, and together, we're going to push your shoulder back into joint. It will hurt immensely, but it must be done, and quickly. We'll both push together, so Sybil learns what to do. I'll be guiding her, though." She paused, her gaze flitting from one to the next. "You'll both be fine."

Sybil breathed in, then, and tried to still herself. _Please don't let me hurt him, _she prayed silently, feeling Tom's eyes boring into her face. She felt Isobel's hands on hers, then, much warmer than hers.

_Pop!_

The noise brought a gasp out of all three of the women, and something in loud Irish Gaelic out of Tom. Sybil could feel her eyes cloud with tears then, and she forgot to remove her hands from Tom's shoulder as the moment passed.

"That's right, then, my dear," Isobel said softly, a smile now on her face. "Well done. You've put Mr. Branson back together now, rather."

Sybil felt herself nodding a bit, a tear dropping out of her eye then. Looking down, she saw Tom's other hand twitch, as though he was reaching up to brush it away. Propriety stopped him, though, before he could do it, still all too aware of Mrs. Hughes presence. Instead, he raised a pair of somewhat puppy dog like eyes to her own.

_Thank you,_ _love,_ they said, though he couldn't quite force his lips to open just yet, for fear of what might come out.

Isobel glanced back to Tom's shoulder, where Sybil's hands were still resting. Clearing he throat softly, Isobel said "Yes, now you should be able to feel the difference now. Mr. Branson, if you can just try to move your shoulder slightly, then Sybil can tell if everything is back in its proper place."

Biting down on his lip, Tom made the slight movement that Isobel requested.

Sybil's hands felt the movement, shifting slightly with the bones beneath his skin. "Yes. That's much better," she murmured softly.

"And here are the towels." Mrs. Hughes came to stand behind him, then, placing a steaming hot towel directly on the shoulder. Tom's lungs filled at the heat, his eyes widening slightly.

Sybil's hands, though they were now off Tom's skin, weren't quite ready to leave yet. Fussing with the edge of the towel that Mrs. Hughes had just placed there, her fingers lingered a bit longer than was proper, still trying to reassure herself that everything would be fine.

* * *

"You knew I'd return. I couldn't leave you out here along, after such a night." Sybil turned from the door to offer Tom a smile as she stepped back into the cottage, much later. "Surely."

Tom nodded. He was still sitting at the small table in the front room. His eyes were a bit glassy, the lines of pain still etched in his face.

Taking off her coat for the second time that day, she hung it on the peg near the door, on top of Tom's uniform jacket.

"You're not dressed," Tom said, a slightly stupid expression on his face as he gaped at her, wrapped up in a warm, thick flannel nightgown and heavy dressing gown.

Sybil giggled slightly at his bluntness, far more relaxed then she was earlier. "No, I suppose not. In regular clothes, at least." She turned to smile at him, as he sat there, a blanket wrapped around him, his shirt still off. "But you're not either."

Tom looked down at himself and smiled wryly. "And that was your doing, if I remember rightly."

Sybil's smile faded a little then. Coming to stand in front of him, she reached a hand down to run it through his hair, her caress gentle and tender. Tom's eyes closed then, and he seemed to relax a little.

In a moment she knelt down then, before him, as she had earlier. This time, though, she did lean forward to kiss him, gently at first, and then a bit harder. Tom leaned into the kiss, drawing his hand out from its place holding the blanket, thereby allowing him to cup her face with it, the blanket dropping to his lap.

"Tom –" Sybil's hand reached out then, and rested on his bare chest. They both watched the action silently, a million thoughts rushing through their minds.

"Are you alright, then?" she asked quietly, still looking at her fingers, which were trailing up and down Tom's pale skin, her fingers caressing the bits of brown hair there, teasing them.

Tom said nothing for a moment. "Thank you, for coming out earlier. I know it must have been hard, with Mrs. Hughes. And having to do that - I don't think I could have done the same for you, love, as much as I would want to, had you been the one that was hurt."

"Well, then you're lucky you have me, I guess," Sybil teased, slightly embarrassed at Tom's words.

"I know. I am." His answer was much more serious.

"Are you in pain, still?" Sybil's expression resumed the concerned look she'd worn a moment earlier.

"Aye." Tom nodded. "I've tried to drink a bit of it off, I'll admit, but it doesn't do too much good."

"I've brought you some pain medicine, from the store cupboard we keep in the house. It's supposed to be for the soldiers, but I don't think Dr. Clarkson will miss one dose," she explained, rising again and moving to open the bag she'd set on the table earlier.

"Sybil –" Tom said, his voice a bit halting.

Sybil turned and looked at him, a quizzical shade to her gray-blue eyes. "Yes?"

"Thank you. For patching me up earlier, and for – for coming back out, to make sure that I was alright."

Sybil nodded. Reaching a hand out to place on his, she said, "Of course. That's my job – to take care of you, when you need it."

"And you're rather good at it. But not just with me. With the men too – I've seen it. You're a very fine nurse, whatever I might have once said." He flushed slightly, thinking back to an argument they'd once had in the garage.

"Thank you." She squeezed his hand, and then removed it, reaching back into the bag to search for the pills she wanted.

"Here we are. Now I won't give you more than one of these, since you've had some whiskey. It should help you to sleep, at least. It will still be quite painful in the morning, and for a few days. You'd better let Edith do the driving for a little while."

Turning from Tom then, she went to fetch a small glass of water and returned in a moment with that and the pills, which she handed to him. He took both, emptying the glass, and then setting it down on the table before him.

"I am lucky to have you," Tom said, echoing her words from a moment ago as he reached for her hand again. This time, though, instead of simply holding it, he pulled her around until she was standing in front of him again. "Sit. Please. For a moment, before you tuck me in and say goodnight."

Saying nothing, Sybil followed his request and let him pull her onto his leg. Both were silent as she leaned against him, the flannel of her nightgown brushing his bare skin.

"You must be cold," she whispered a few moments later, as his hand ran up and down her back, the touch intimate despite the layers of white wrapping she wore.

"Not with you here," he responded softly.

She turned, then, to wrap her arms both around his chest, willing her warmth to find him. _I wonder if he thinks me rather bold, pressing up against him like this, when I've not got my normal undergarments on. He can probably feel rather a lot of me, probably quite well, even wrapped as I am in all of this._

He reached up to caress her hair then, held in place now only by a single ribbon.

"This wasn't quite how I imagined it being, you know. The first time you came to me in your night-clothes."

Sybil laughed at this, her face flushing red behind Tom's shoulder. "Really Tom! You shouldn't say such things!" _And this is what I get for teasing him, I suppose. He's probably twelve steps ahead of me, already, in his mind._

"Why not? Because if you are truly going to marry me, then I'm pretty sure that moment will come," he teased. "Or at least I certainly hope it does."

Sybil giggled again then, and pulled back slightly, placing a soft kiss just beneath his ear. "You shouldn't say such things," she murmured quietly.

"Why? Because you're afraid I might take advantage of you now? I fear that I'm not quite up to that tonight – not even after four years of waiting." He chuckled low.

"Tom!" Sybil exclaimed, pulling back enough so she could swat at him lightly.

"What? Don't tell me that you've not thought about it." He grinned wickedly. "It'll be grand, you know. When we're married."

"Tom Branson! I do believe you've had too much to drink! You're to go off to bed, right this instant," she scolded lightly, her face blazing, as she tried to stand up.

A hand, though, caught her and held her fast. He brought his lips just in front of hers then, a grin in the bright blue eyes. "I tease you because I love you, you must know that."

_Ordering me to bed. God, I hope this is something she continues, in our future._

Sybil smiled as he kissed her. "I do," she said, pulling back. "But really, sometimes I don't quite know what to do with you." She shook her head in mock anger.

"Don't worry, milady," Tom said, a real smile on his face for the first time that evening. "I'm sure you'll figure it out pretty quickly when the time comes."

"Now then, we'll get you into bed, and you'll be off soon, with the medicine." Sybil was following Tom as he walked into his bedroom a short time later.

Behind his back, where he couldn't see, Sybil found herself staring at his bed. _And here we are, not half an hour after that ridiculous conversation about night-clothes and being married and the like. _She could feel her face burn. _And just in case you're wondering, yes I have thought about you, that way. Not that I'll ever be able to admit it. Not standing here, watching you get into bed, half-dressed as you are._

"Will you stay, and tuck me in then?" Tom looked over his shoulder at her then.

Sybil nodded, her face still a bit flushed. "I suppose it's the least I can do, after the day you've had."

Tom moved to sit on the edge of the bed, but then looked down at the green wool jodhoppers he was still wearing. "I don't suppose you would mind handing me a pair of my pyjama pants, since you know where they are, probably."

This brought one of Sybil's hands up to her face. _Good God Tom, what am I going to do with you. _Biting her tongue slightly, she turned towards the small dresser and pulled out a pair of Tom's pyjamas. "There. But don't ask me to put them on you, too. You're well enough for that, I think."

Tom grinned, but wisely said nothing.

"I'll be just – right out – " Sybil turned and stalked out the door quickly, before her feet had the chance to root.

"It's right hard, you know," Tom said as soon as she was outside of the room and on the other side of a nearly closed door. "Being forced to undress myself, when you're so good at it."

Sybil bit her lip then to hold back a nervous giggle, turning around just in time to catch a glimpse of a rather white bum through the crack between the door and the woodwork. Her breath sucked in rather quickly, then, and she found herself biting her finger, a moment later, to keep any sound from escaping her mouth.

_Turn your back. Turn your back and walk away, so he'll not catch you watching him. Then you'll really never hear the end of it – or make it out of here tonight, even._

She had only managed the turn part, though, when the door flew open. Blue eyes grinned. "The show's over. Not that you watched any of it, of course."

Sybil tried to give him a stern look, but failed badly. "Let's get you to bed, then," she said, bustling past him and back into the bedroom. Pulling back the covers, she pointed a finger and turned to face Tom. "In. Now."

"Anything you say, milady," Tom replied tartly.

"Really, you just –"

Tom's wince cut her off as he lay down on the bed. "Bloody hell that hurts!" he cursed, sitting back up again as quickly as he'd just lain down.

In an instant, Sybil was back in nursing capacity. "You may not be able to sleep on it tonight. It would be best for you, probably, if you were to sit up, at least a little. We'll just need to prop you up a bit, with some more pillows." She looked around the bare room, searching for where Tom might keep such items hidden.

"There are no more pillows," he said softly.

"Oh." _ Of course not, you idiot. Why'd you go and have to say something like that, and just point out once more that we live in different worlds, despite sleeping a few hundred yards apart._

She lifted her eyes then, and looked through the doorway. _And no sofa, or stuffed chair neither. And he can't spend the night in one of those wooden kitchen chairs. Even if he did get to sleep, he'd risk falling off. And that certainly wouldn't help anything._

Tom watched her, quietly, aware that the mood in the room had changed yet again.

"I'll be fine. Really."

Sybil turned her gaze back to him then, concern worrying her eyes. "No you won't be."

"Perhaps you could tuck something under the pillow. That jumper you wore the other night when you were here. That would bring it up a bit."

Sybil shook her head. "No, it wouldn't be enough. You need something that'll help you sit up, but that will still be soft. Against your shoulder."

Looking around the room again, she searched in vain or something that might work.

"I'll be fine. Just give me a kiss and leave me to it. I'm tired enough, I'm sure, that it won't bother me for long."

"Tom, you've had your shoulder wrenched out of the socket today. You can take all of the whiskey and medicine you want, it's still going to hurt terribly when you lay down on it," Sybil insisted.

She looked at him, then, as he tried once more to lie back. Wincing, his lip firmly in his teeth, he tried again.

She watched him, her hands coming up to rest on her hips. _No. This won't do. I should – I must –_

_Yes._

_God knows I shouldn't, but I will._

"Sit up."

Tom sighed, but did as she told him.

"Now, sit forward a bit, on the bed."

Tom did as she asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Now. I'm going to sit in back of you, like you did the other night when you were holding me – warming me – by the stove me. Then you'll be able to rest back – on me – and sleep. For a little while, at least. You can rest like that, for a few hours, before I have to go back, in the morning."

Tom watched her, disbelief on his face as he watched her sit down on the edge of the bed, then. "Sybil, you don't have to…"

"No." Her voice was firm, though she had a hard time meeting his eyes for a moment. "I know that I don't. But I want to. Please Tom, let me. I truly think that it will help you to rest. Truly. It's the least I can do for you.."

_Please, please, let me do this for you,_ the blue-gray eyes pleaded. _I know it's completely inappropriate, and that you will probably think me mad for doing it, and taking the risk, but please, Tom. I can't leave you this way. And if I stay with you, only for a few hours, even, I'll know that you're ok. Let me do this – for you, and for me._

Neither of them spoke, then, as she turned and moved to sit behind him, her legs tucking around on either side of him.

For a moment, she thought he was going to turn around and kiss her then, but he stopped himself before his lips were too close to hers. Instead, he watched her as she settled herself in.

"Now," she said, her voice low and quiet. "Lie back on me, and let me hold you."

Knowing he could never argue with her, and admitting to himself that she was probably right, he let himself relax back slowly, his back settling into her chest, the softness of her form a cushion for his throbbing head and shoulders.

_Someday, we'll fall asleep this way again, please God,_ he thought, his mind quickly beginning to haze over with the drowsy peace of sleep.

And in another moment he was asleep, a slight smile lingering on his lips, the arms of his bride-to-be loose around his neck.

* * *

_Just a quick note to say thank you to everyone who has left such kind notes and comments about this fic. Your enthusiasm for this project has been so generous….you inspire me to keep going! And keep going I will. This story certainly continues to grow in my mind, and I have no plans to end it anytime soon._

_As always, thanks for reading! _


	19. Waking and Worrying

_Remember where we left off? Tom drifting off to sleep in the warmth of Sybil's arms? Yeah. It was nice. But…._

_Despite my best attempts, this fic seems to be acquiring a bit of plot. While I know I've left Sybil and Tom in many awkward (and hopefully enjoyable!) situations before, I felt like this one was too big to leave them alone without SOME sort of explanation. Besides, the truth is that by now, the odds are totally stacked against them, and there's no way they can continue to get away with everything. That being said, if they are to be caught, why not make it something big?_

_By the way – pardon the language in this one, if you're the sort who winces. I can't see Tom saying anything BUT that, given the situation._

_Knock knock knock._

Tom's eyes opened, his groggy mind taking a moment to register what had just happened.

_Just someone at the door. I suppose there must be some sort of prob-_

At that moment he moved, and a flash of pain shot through his arm. It hardly compared, though, to the shock he felt when he looked at what – or rather _who_ – was lying on his small bed next to him.

_Holy fuck. _

His eyes were wide open now, his line of sight full of brown curls and white flannel. _Holy God. She's still here, in my bed. My –_

He was fully awake now, to say the least. A quick glance told him that she, however, was not.

_And wouldn't I love to leave her that way, and to lay next to her all the morning, tucked up warm beneath the blankets for a long lie in…_

The knock came again, then, harder and more urgent, forcing Tom out of his dreams and back to reality. Suddenly, the purpose of the knock became clear. There was trouble – indeed.

And it likely had something to do with the absence of the Crawley's youngest daughter.

_Shit. She's been discovered to be missing, and Mary sent them out here, and I'm going to have my head busted by Lord Grantham when he discovers his daughter's spent the night in my cottage, in my bed. _

He tried to sit up then, but the pain nearly knocked him back again. _And the situation is made yet even more brilliant by the fact that I feel as though my shoulder is going to explode any moment._

Still, _I, no_, _we,_ he corrected himself, would have to face it – or rather, _them_. He reached over a hand to rub her arm briskly. "Sybil, love, you've got to wake up. Someone's here – at the door," he said softly, tension filling his voice.

Blue gray eyes opened narrowly. "What?" She nearly rolled off the bed then, as she became aware of her surroundings and tried, briefly, to place where she was. "Where - How did I end up like this?" she asked, her voice still full of sleep. She turned a slightly confused expression to Tom, as she suddenly realized that she had most likely spent the last several hours asleep in _his _bed_, _in _his_ arms_ –_

"When you fell asleep I was sitting up, behind you –"

"I know." Tom nodded. "I don't know what happened – honestly, love. The trouble is that you're here, now, and there's someone pounding the hell out of me door, and – "

"Bloody hell," she cursed quietly, looking out the small window into the dark sky. "It can't be that late. We couldn't have slept that long – "

She turned back to look at him again. "Tom," she started, watching him as he finally managed to stand up and make his way to the door. "Tom." He turned this time to look at her, pain and anguish written on every inch of his face. "We'll go today. I don't care what they say about you, or me. Nothing changes."

"Right." He opened the door then, with his good hand, and walked into the outer room, shivering noticeably. It had been so nice and warm in his bed, the bedclothes warmed by their combined body heat. _ Probably should have put on a shirt, _he thought idly. _Not that it'll probably matter how dressed I am, when they find her._

Given the present circumstances, his shoulder injury suddenly seemed quite minor, compared to what he might be about to suffer.

Suddenly a memory shot back to him. Sybil, standing in the garage, wearing her uniform, one night several months ago. _I've told Mary._

Tom groaned out loud. _Good God, I hope it's not her. She'll probably shoot first and ask questions later. God knows she'll probably be even worse than her father._

Closing his eyes and offering a plea to the heavens, he moved to the door.

_Knock knock knock._

He looked up, and then down. Brown eyes in a pale face stared back at him, though they were situated much lower then he'd been expecting.

"Let me in, you bloody fool! It's cold out here!"

His hand fell to the door lock, which he quickly twisted, followed by the knob.

_Thank God. Thank the Holy, Holy God._

"Daisy!" He exclaimed, suddenly thrilled to see the kitchen maid. "What are you doing out here?" he asked, stepping back and letting her step inside. _Maybe we're not the trouble. Maybe there's something else, some sort of crisis up at the house, maybe one of the soldiers…._ He felt his body relax slightly, suddenly buoyant at the thought that whatever the problem was, _it wasn't them._

"What's wrong?" he asked, hoping he looked as though he'd just been awoken from a perfectly normal night's sleep - alone.

"I asked what's wrong?" Tom watched as Daisy's eyes flickered over him, half-dressed and rather rumpled as he was.

Her eyes found his face again in a moment, clearly nervous. "Lady Sybil's missing. She didn't come down for her cooking lesson, like she normally does, this morning." She looked around the room, her eyes flitting from spot to spot quickly, not sure what to say next.

"I went up to her room to wake her up, thinking she'd overslept, but she wasn't there. I thought maybe she'd been called to the hospital and you had to take her, last night."

Tom's eyes closed. _Holy Mother of God. Thank you thank you thank you…._ He exhaled then, and without thinking, moved to roll his shoulder – a part of his normal morning routine. The pain was enough, though to make him grit his teeth together.

"Is she then? At the hospital?" Daisy's tone was quickly turning from intrigued to impatient. "I just wanted to know, to make sure she was okay, before I started my morning duties. She's normally so eager to come, and she's never missed before, so I wanted to be sure…" the kitchen maid trailed off, obviously concerned.

_She's truly worried about Sybil. They've rather become friends, I think,_ he thought, finding himself wanting to smile at the thought of Sybil befriending yet another member of the Downton staff.

_I must play along, though,_ he thought, trying to think clearly – a difficult task given the throbbing pain in his arm and the thought of the woman in his bed in the next room. "Yes. Of course. "

_Am I supposed to say that? I suppose it's the proper thing to do, since that would be the only legitimate reason that she wouldn't be at the house at this time of morning._

"Okay." Daisy nodded once, her eyes drifting down Tom then, before she turned to go.

Before she could reach for the door, though, a muffled crash came from the other room, followed by a curse.

Daisy's eyes widened, her gaze now locked on the small door leading to Tom's bedroom. When she finally wrested them from the door, though, it was only to lock them firmly on Tom.

"Who?" she asked, unable to stop herself, though she knew it was none of her business. She stood still for a moment, scrolling through the list of female staff in her mind. Then, suddenly, her mouth dropped open.

"Is that _Lady Sybil_?" she hissed.

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. I have just made my fiancée into the very worst sort of stereotype that can possibly exist at a place like Downton - the lady who finds her favors downstairs. And now Daisy will think that…_

All of his fears were quickly returning, as evidenced by his stumbling speech. "No. It's – don't worry about it Daisy. It's nothing for you to worry yourself ab –"

He was cut off, though, before he could finish the sentence, by a much calmer, steadier voice.

"It is me, Daisy."

Two sets of eyes flew to the doorway of Tom's bedroom, both landing on the Lord's youngest daughter, who was standing in her nightgown and dressing gown, looking surprisingly calm.

"Oh my God…." Daisy whispered, a hand rising to her lips. She looked from Sybil to Tom and then back again.

_Good God, Sybil. I appreciate the gesture, but it would probably be easier for me to let her think that I was with one of the housemaids or something. Anything but you being here, actually, would probably be easier to explain._

Tom gazed at this fiancée then, and before he could stop it, a feeling of pride washed over him.

_But then again, that's not Sybil. She stands up for her principles, for what she thinks is right._

And then Tom felt a swelling of pride in his chest, suddenly emotional despite the terribly awkward situation. _ And she stands up for me._

"It's me Daisy," she repeated. "I came out to check on Tom's shoulder last night, after he injured it, and ended up falling asleep. I didn't intend for it to happen, but it did, and here I am."

_She's so calm._ Tom could not help but be amazed at the performance his future bride was putting on. _So self-assured and composed._

Daisy, too, was completely absorbed by her words, her eyes still wide, but the look on her face slowly changing from one of incredulity to some sort of understanding.

"The truth is, Daisy, Tom and I are engaged to be married. "

_Oh my God. And there she goes again…._

"That's why I've been asking for the cooking lessons. So when we move to Dublin, and set up a home together, I'll have some idea as to what I'm doing."

Tom watched as Daisy nodded her head, seeming to follow what Sybil was saying perfectly.

"I knew you were trustworthy, and you wouldn't give me away. And you've not." She paused slightly, trying to weigh her words carefully. Sending a quick glance to Tom – _trust me – _she turned back to Daisy. "And I'm hoping that you'll do the same now, for both of us." Sybil was walking out of the doorway, now, and closer to Daisy. The expression on her face was softening by the moment, a plea forming in her eyes. She stopped in front of her, and reached a hand out to Daisy's arm. "Please don't give us away. I know I have no right to ask it of you. But we – we love each other, and we will be married, Tom and I. But we'd prefer to wait until the spring. So Tom can have a new job, and I can be done with my nursing."

"Will you be a chauffeur there, Mr. Branson?" Daisy asked, turning to look at Tom again.

He felt his lips stretch into a tight line. Reaching a hand up to run it through his hair, he sighed. "I hope not, Daisy. I'm hoping to be a newspaper man, if I can find a position."

"Ah." The brown head nodded, accepting this information, as if this was the sort of conversation she had every day.

"And I'll be a nurse, just like here. We'll both work. Together." Sybil was still talking to Daisy, but her eyes had found Tom's.

_A nurse. She will be a working woman. And oddly enough, she wants Daisy to know that. To tell her that she's not above earning her way in the world, too._

"When will you go, then?" the kitchen maid asked, clearly interested in learning more.

"As soon as we hear word on work for Tom," Sybil replied calmly.

"I see."

Sybil's eyes turned back to Daisy again then, picking up her plea. _Unless you…_

"I don't know that I can teach you any Irish recipes. I don't think I know any." The girl's face took on a somewhat thoughtful expression then, as if she were scrolling through her mental recipe box.

Tom allowed himself a slight smile again then, sent to Daisy. _I actually think we might be ok. I don't think she will tell anyone…_

"I'm sure that Tom will be happy with anything you can do. I know that I am. I really do appreciate you helping me – us," Sybil corrected herself. Sybil's hand ran up Daisy's arm, then, to rub it gently.

Daisy nodded. "Yes."

_She understands. She won't give us away, I don't think._

"I'm very grateful. And I know that Tom is too. Thank you." Sybil spoke softly.

"Yes. Thank you," he echoed, marveling once more at the magic that Sybil seemed to have worked on the young kitchen maid.

Daisy glanced towards the window then, at the dark sky. Looking back to Sybil, she spoke. "I should get back to the house now, before anyone realizes I've gone. They'll be up before too soon." She gave Sybil a look that asked the question she couldn't quite articulate.

"Yes. And I should go back too. Before anyone else finds that I'm missing." Turning to Tom, then, she placed a hand on his arm. "I'll try to come back later, to check on you. Maybe with Mrs. Hughes, or Cousin Isobel."

He nodded.

"And I'll have Edith take me to the hospital. You rest today."

Having cautioned him, she then turned her head up and kissed him on the cheek.

And then, with another smile, she turned and retrieved her coat from its place, slipped it on, and followed Daisy out of the cottage into the cold.

_A couple of things…._

_I know that Daisy probably would have known that Tom was injured, but I banked on the assumption that she wouldn't consider the fact that he wouldn't be able to drive. _

_If you're wondering, yes, there will be a conversation about this between them at some point. I have absolutely no idea, though, what they will end up saying yet….._

_On another front, I do plan on having them "reveal" themselves to a few others before the big bang….any suggestions?_


	20. A Forbidden Christmas

_Before you read this, I promise you this – it's a happy chapter. In fact I finished this last week, but I wanted to save it and post it tonight, as a bit of an antidote to what aired in this evening's episode, for those of you who are watching along (for the first or second time). _

_The one thing that I do apologize for, is the timing of this chapter. It really should have been posted a month ago, when everyone was in the Christmas spirit. Alas, though, it wasn't inspired until a conversation I had a couple of weeks ago, with gothamgirl28, who sent me a request, which I am happy to fill below. ( I hope you enjoy it!) Anyway, though, suddenly it all fell into place, including the timing of Tom's arm injury. So,with no further ado…. _

* * *

_**Just a few days before Christmas**_

"How are you feeling?"

Sybil stepped into Tom's cottage, pulling the door closed behind her.

"About the same. Better, a bit." Tom looked up at her from the chair where he was sitting. "I've been trying to use my time wisely, and do a bit of typing. I've been at work on a mock report of an event. When I sent inquiry letters to a few papers, they told me that such a piece would help them to assess my writing better."

"That seems logical." Sybil hung her coat up, and turned to face Tom, noting out of the corner of her eye that the door to his bedroom was shut. _Which is probably a good thing. Because I don't know if I'm ready to talk about that yet – _

Not that she hadn't been thinking about it. In fact, she'd rather been thinking about it a lot. Day and night, really. Especially at night. Suddenly, her big bed just seemed so – big. Cold. Lonely.

The first night after she'd stayed in Tom's cottage she'd been up several times during the night, stoking the fire, running a warming pan over her sheets, adding another blanket to the pile. Anything to try and make it warmer. None of it, though, did anything to help. She was still cold….and nothing seemed to change that.

She'd also come to realize, in the last few nights, just how large her bed was. Huge. She'd never thought about it before, really. She'd been sleeping in the same bed for years, since she left the nursery. Now, though, it suddenly seemed excessively big. Too big, really, for just one person.

She'd also come to dread the smell of her bed. Not that it smelled bad – quite the opposite, in fact. Anna stored floral sachets with the sheets, in the linen cupboards. The trouble was, when she'd slept in Tom's bed, his bed had simply smelled like him. Ink, motor oil, his hair product – whatever it was, it was him. And she wanted to smell it again, as she drifted off to sleep, and first thing, when she awoke.

_I suppose I just want him there, if I'm honest with myself. I don't think anything else will suffice, until he's there, with me. _The thought had come to her sometime during the second night, as she stared at the empty pillow next to her.

It had taken her a long time to fall asleep that night, her eyes so focused on the blank pillow. It hadn't taken her mind's eye long to fill the space with his face. And then she found herself imaging the rest of him there, lying next to her, his body within inches of hers. And then touching hers. And then on top of -

"So which one do like the best?"

_All of the above._

Sybil flushed hot pink and blinked. Tom had just asked her a question, and she had no idea what he was talking about. "What? I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere." _ To be precise, it was in bed. With you. But as I can't exactly say that…_

Tom looked up at her, trying to decipher the expression on her face, which she was trying very hard to regulate.

"Tell me again."

The only thing to do was to get that blasted door out of her line of sight. Turning slightly, she moved to stand behind Tom, reading over his shoulder as he sat.

"Oh, sure. I think they'd probably prefer the shorter one. While the other is certainly more informative, it might be a little too long to really hold the reader's attention."

Tom nodded and placed his fingers back on the keys. _Tap tap tap._

Sybil read as he typed, impressed by the speed at which his fingers moved over the keys. He'd really taken to the typewriter much fast than she had imagined he would.

She let her hands come down to rest then, on his shoulders.

The touch broke Tom's concentration. He turned then, and grinned at her. "Trying to distract me?"

Sybil smiled a little grin. "No." _Just wanting to touch you, that's all._ "I was just wondering how you managed to do that, so quickly. Gwen used to tell me stories about how it took her a long time to learn to type, with the proper speed and accuracy."

Tom smiled. "Suppose I'm just exceptionally gifted with my fingers?"

Sybil flushed, her hand rising to her mouth as she laughed, pretty sure she knew where he was going with such a comment. _Breathe, Sybil. Breathe ._"No," she protested a minute later, her thoughts now mostly back under control. "Truly. You've only had the typewriter a few weeks, and yet you're typing as fast as – "

"As you've ever seen? Are you now judging typing competitions between your nursing shifts?" he teased.

Sybil shook her head. _This man is incorrigible. _"Really, Tom. Must you tease me about everything?"

He grinned roguishly. "It is rather fun – and easy, you must admit." Stretching his arms out in front of him, he wiggled his fingers. "I suspect it has a lot to do with the fact that I used to play when I was a child."

"Play?" Sybil asked, clearly confused.

"The piano. When I was a lad there was a woman who moved in next door to us, who had a piano. She was a widower, and she supported herself by giving lessons. Sometimes they'd go quite late, so she and Mam came up with a solution. Mam would feed her little ones tea at our house, when they came home from school, and she'd give us lessons in the evening. Any of us who wanted to learn."

"And you wanted to?" Sybil said, a bit surprised.

Tom shrugged slightly. "I was intrigued. It was different. And besides, women always seem to like a musical man."

Sybil batted a hand at him. "Really. Have you ever done anything in your life that's _not _to please the female sex?"

Tom grabbed her hand and kissed it loudly. "Well, my darlin' it seems to have worked with you."

"Oh," she moaned, intentionally overly dramatic. "What will I ever do with you?"

Tom grinned and nodded towards his shoulder. "You can give me another shoulder exam."

Sybil giggled and stepped around to stand behind Tom again, letting her hands rest on his broad shoulders again. She'd actually been out to check on Tom twice a day, since he'd injured his shoulder. Each time, though, she'd been accompanied by someone else – Isobel, Mrs. Hughes, and even once, her mother. That had been interesting, to say the least. Cora had been in the village, picking up a few things, and had asked Pratt to run by the hospital to fetch Sybil home from her shift. Somehow, Tom's shoulder injury had managed to come up during the course of their conversation, and Cora announced that she would look in on him with Sybil. She'd had no chance to warn him, so there they were, suddenly, on the doorstep of his cottage, the Countess of Grantham and her youngest daughter. Needless to say, that day she'd checked Tom's shoulder through his shirt, unable to bring herself around to the idea of seeing Tom, bare chested, while her mother looked on.

Now, there weren't any witnesses. Tugging slightly on the white fabric, she felt her fingers tremble slightly. "I suppose. But I think you're well enough to at least unbutton your own shirt."

Tom turned to watch her flush. Raising an eyebrow, he attempted to sound innocent. "But where's the fun in that?"

* * *

_**A couple of days later, on Christmas Eve**_

"Tom! What are you doing?" Sybil hissed into the darkness, turning to read the gaze of the handsome man beside her.

Tom gave her a quizzical look. "Going to the house, like you said. What does it look like I'm doing?" he said, reaching out to take her hand, which he squeezed tightly.

Sybil turned her head and followed his gaze. Down the driveway, around the back….

_Ah. That makes sense, I suppose. When he does come into the house it would be back there…._

Sybil lifted her head, her chin coming up defiantly. "No."

Tom's voice cut through the dark next to her. "No? But that's how – "

Sybil tugged at his hand and began pulling him towards the other side of the house. "No. If you're coming inside with me, so we can celebrate our Christmas, then we're going in my way. And your way too – soon."

Tom groaned at this. As if it wasn't bad enough already – the youngest daughter feigning illness to stay home from the Christmas Eve service in the village, knowing very well that everyone – _everyone – _in the house always went. Even the Catholic chauffeur, who she had pronounced not quite ready to drive yet that morning still in front of Mrs. Hughes…..

"Come on, Tom. It's cold out!"

"But – "

"But what? Come on. You'd best get ready to coming in through the front door, you know. Someday, when we come back – "

Sybil's voice trailed off slightly, though she still kept up a feeble smile. It'd been on her mind all day, really. _The last Christmas here at Downton. My last Christmas with my family, for a long time. For possibly – _

_No. _

_They won't. _

_They couldn't._

_It may take time, but eventually they'll come round…_

It was a prayer she'd been praying all day.

Even the thought of her last Christmas Eve service at the village church hadn't been enough to dissuade her. Though she normally loved the full service in the little church, it wasn't enough to lure her away.

_Not tonight. We need time together, even if it's just a bit, to celebrate. Just a little. Just –_

She turned to Tom then, as they walked quickly across the drive. Hoping to bring a smile to his face, she attempted some humor. "Besides, I thought you were a socialist. And from what I've heard, they don't believe in back doors."

It worked. The corners of Tom's lips went up then, as she pulled him to the light.

"Milady," he said, reaching for the door handle.

"Oh, get off you," she said, watching him as he pulled the door open just enough for them to both tuck themselves inside.

Tom's eyes raised as he walked into the entrance. _Good Lord, it's huge,_ he thought, his eyes trying to find a place to rest upon. He'd been in the entryway before, of course, but never in quite these circumstances.

"Tom?" His head turned back to the lovely lady with him. "I've set out tea in the drawing room. I know the tree's here, but I thought it would be cozier in there," she explained.

"Aye." His response was short, but his tone still revealed a hint of nerves.

"It's fine. I promise. Come with me," she said softly, weaving her arm through him. Reading the hesitation on his face, she reached up to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Come on, love. We've not got all night, and I do want some proper time with you."

"Of course." The kiss was enough to relax Tom, slightly. Reaching his hand across his body to hold her hand in his, he tried to act as if this was all perfectly normal – walking into the front entrance of Downton Abbey and letting the Earl's youngest daughter lead him off to the drawing room for tea.

The thick carpeting cushioned their steps as they walked through the salon and into the warmth of the drawing room. A fire had been laid in the hearth earlier in the day, and was still burning warmly, the coals glowing orange in the darkness of the evening.

Guiding Tom through the room slowly, Sybil brought him to two chairs and a small table that were near the fire. "Here. Sit here for just a moment, and I'll be right back with the –" With this she disappeared out of the room and into the hallway, where Tom could hear her operating a dumbwaiter.

"Happy Christmas!" she exclaimed, coming back to stand in the doorway just a moment later, a small flaming pudding proudly displayed on the tray in front of her.

In a moment again Tom was on his feet, the expression on his face a bit shocked. He'd been expecting a plate of biscuits, maybe, but not this. He watched her, a grin forming on his lips, as she carefully carried the tray and the pudding, merrily burning blue, across to the table between two chairs.

Setting it down, she reached to the tea tray that was already laid out, and handed Tom the server. "Now, you do the honors!" she instructed.

Grinning broadly, Tom took the server and patted out the flames. As soon as the last flame died, he turned to kiss her soundly. "It looks delicious, love."

Sybil smiled prettily, her hands coming up to play with his suit jacket. "It's Susan's receipt. She sent it to me, and Daisy helped me make it," she explained proudly.

"Shall I cut?" he asked, turning the server to its side.

"Yes. And I'll pour the tea." Sybil moved to settle herself in the nearest chair. Reaching for the teapot, she noticed that she'd placed the plates for the pudding on the far side of the tea tray. "Right here, dear," she said quietly, turning to catch Tom's eye.

He reached for the plates as she handed them to him, their hands brushing against one another. Both of them looked down at their hands, the same thought flitting around both of their minds.

_Next Christmas._

_Next Christmas._

_Dear. Love. Husband. Wife._

_Please God, let us make it._

Images of Dublin ran through Tom's mind as he cut the pudding and placed slices of it on the two white plates. _Dublin. Midnight Mass. Mam. _ All the memories of his childhood Christmases, rushing back.

As he placed the server back down, he found himself watching the fire for a moment, trying to picture a little hearth, with a rug in front of it, in a flat in Dublin. _The two of them, there, sharing a Christmas treat, before the fire. Perhaps feeding each other bites of a celebratory pudding, their bodies melting together in the dark, cuddling closer, until the pudding was done and the plates would be pushed away and he'd reach for her and kiss her, their bodies sinking onto the warm rug, a soft bed for their Christmas lovemaking…._

"What are you thinking?" Sybil asked him softly, as she reached for her plate, the fork tinkling on the china.

Tom turned around to face her, his cheeks warm from the fire. "Just how nice it will be when we – "

Sybil nodded, cutting a small bite of pudding with her fork. "When we're married?" she asked quietly.

Tom nodded. _Close enough._

"I know." Sybil smiled. "But we should enjoy now, too. There's no shame in that." She nodded towards the other chair. "Your tea is getting cold," she scolded gently.

Tom turned towards the chair, looking down at the expensive upholstery on it. _Probably worth more than everything we'll have in our flat,_ he thought vaguely.

_She'd right though, my boy. Tonight is right now, and we should enjoy it. Even if next year will be very different._

Reaching for his own pudding, he took a large bite onto his fork. Aware that Sybil was watching him, he placed it in his mouth and tasted.

"Well done, love," he praised her a moment later, pleased at the smile that lit up her face. "Very well done."

He smiled and reached for his tea. Raising the cup to his lips, he caught her watching him still.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's not as though I've ever made one before. And Daisy freely admits that her puddings aren't as good as Mrs. Patmore's…."

Taking a drink, Tom replaced the cup in its saucer. "It's very good, love. Truly." He meant every word of it.

"Good," Sybil said, allowing herself to relax a bit.

_Probably not very modern of me, but I do like the thought that I can feed him something descent, at least,_ Sybil thought. _ Though God knows what it'll be like when I don't have Daisy to help me, anymore._

"How is Susan? And James?" Tom asked, after another bite.

Sybil reached for her tea and took a sip. "Very well, according to her last letter."

Tom arched an eyebrow slightly. "Any word on – " he trailed off, realizing a bit after the fact that it probably wasn't proper to sit in the Countess' drawing room and discuss a woman's pregnancy.

Sybil, though, was not worried about any such pretense. "She's ready for the babe to come. They normally travel to be with James' family for Christmas, but they both thought that it probably wouldn't be wise for her to travel, this close. " Sybil caught Tom's gaze then, and held it. "The baby will probably come in the next month, or so. He – or she – will be here soon." A smile played on her lips.

Tom cleared his throat slightly, "Would you like to visit them, when we leave?"

A vision of Sybil holding a baby, wrapped in shawls, passed before Tom's eyes. _If we leave soon, by next Christmas there's a chance that we might be the expectant parents –_

Sybil nodded, her smile broadening. "Very much. Maybe I can – _we_ can - " she paused, letting herself enjoy the taste of the word on her tongue, sweeter than any pudding.

At that moment something caught her eye on top of the mantel. "And perhaps we can take her something as well. A small gift, of some sort," she said, hoping her voice was nonchalant.

Tom nodded, thinking nothing unusual about the comment.

Neither of them spoke, for a moment, as they finished their pudding and tea. Placing his dirty dishes on the tea tray, Tom nodded to it, before looking at Sybil. "Shall I take it down?" he asked.

Sybil shook her head. "Absolutely not. I'll take care of it." _You will not be my servant, tonight. Not in any way._

"Then I wonder if I might do something else, for you." Tom asked the question a bit hesitantly, his eyes leaving Sybil's face to roam about the room. In a moment, they seemed to find what they were looking for, near one of the doors.

Sybil's brow wrinkled into a question, her eyes turning to follow his.

"I told you, the other night, that I used to play, a bit. I wonder – could I play something for you?"

Sybil's expression quickly melted into a smile. "Of course."

Tom stood then, and reaching down for Sybil's hand, he pulled her up with him. Holding her hand in his, he led her over to the piano there.

_So this is why he asked if we might meet in the house tonight. There's a piano in the servant's hall, too, if I remember correctly. I wonder if he intended that, when he made for the back door. _

Letting go of Sybil's hand reluctantly, Tom bent down to pull out the piano bench. Sitting down on it, he let his fingers brush over the keys, as though trying to acquaint himself with this new instrument.

In another moment his fingers tentatively struck a chord, and then another, working it through all of its inversions, slowly climbing up the keyboard. Allowing himself a satisfied smile, then, he turned to Sybil, who stood close by, her hands resting on the edge of the piano. "Do you have a favourite Christmas carol?"

Sybil smiled. _As if I need more reasons to fall in love with him._ Nodding, she spoke softly. "O Holy Night."

A sandy eyebrow arched slightly. "Isn't that Catholic?"

At this she smiled. "There are Catholic things that I like," she teased.

"True." Tom's hands stretched then, and his left hand began to stretch over the keys, slowing finding the broken bass chords of the song.

Sybil watched, fascinated, thinking back briefly to her own failed attempt at piano lessons, when she was a girl of no more than five or six. _I'm the lady, who is supposed to have just this sort of accomplishment. Yet here I stand, unable to play more than a simple tune, while Tom, a poor boy from Dublin, plays beautifully, as though by pure instinct._

And then, in another instant, he surprised her again. Opening his mouth slightly, a clear, pure tenor tone rang out from his lips.

"_O Holy Night, the stars are brightly shining_

_It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth."_

Sybil's eyes widened slightly, and then closed, a sweet smile on her face.

"_Long lay the world, in sin and error pining,_

'_Til he appeared and the soul felt its worth."_

Up and down the keyboard, Tom's calloused fingers ran, touching the keys lightly and then firmly, as the melody and harmony required. Sybil, nearly as fascinated by watching Tom's hands as she was in listening to him sing, stepped around behind him, and then allowed herself to perch on the edge of the bench near him, careful to keep out of his way as he stretched to reach the bass notes.

Finally, on the third verse, she allowed herself to hum along lightly, as Tom continued to sing, his voice taking on a richer tone as the lyrics began to reflect his own dearly held beliefs.

"_Truly He taught us to love one another,_

_His law is love and His gospel is peace._

_Chains will he break, for the slave is a brother,_

_And in his name all oppression shall cease._

_Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,_

_Let all within us praise His Holy name._

_Christ is the Lord! Let ever, ever praise we._

_His power and glory evermore proclaim._

_His power and glory evermore proclaim."_

A few more running notes, some deep, rumbling chords, and Tom finished the song, a satisfied smile on his face, happy that his fingers had not forgotten how to draw music out of the keys.

Sybil leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "That was lovely," she whispered. Squeezing his arm gently, she rose off the bench then, and began to walk back towards the fire.

Crossing towards the mantel, Sybil reached behind the greenery and brought out a small box, wrapped in a crisp red paper and tied with a silver ribbon. Holding the box for a moment, she pressed her lips together, trying to determine what she would say if Tom protested. Truthfully, she knew that they hadn't discussed exchanging presents. In fact she might even go so far as to say that they had purposefully avoided the topic, knowing full well that they would both need to save what money they could, for their journey in the spring.

She turned slightly, searching out Tom's eyes.

He saw the box just a moment later, his body language changing slightly. He'd stood when she had risen, of course, but now his posture was different. He stood as though almost at attention.

"It's something that I wanted you to have – " she tried to explain, walking over to stand before him, her hand rising up to rest on his arm, hoping the touch would calm his sudden stiffening. She paused, and tried again, hating the lines that were forming on his forehead. "It's my gift, to you. I didn't buy it. It's something that was mine, and is mine to give." She paused. "Just as you gave me your song." She stopped for a moment, her hand reaching out to hold his. "Happy Christmas," she whispered softly.

"Sybil –" he started. Not wanting to hear what he might say next, Sybil simply reached up and kissed him, then, her mouth warm on his.

A few moments later he finally pulled back, and began to speak once again. She, however, was determined that he would not let him spoil the moment. "No," she whispered, raising a finger to his lips. "Sit down, and open it. Please," she pleaded, softly.

Tom sighed and did as she asked, sitting down on the nearest chair, a great large, overstuffed piece, and pulling her down with him, onto his knee.

"Please," she said again, placing the small box in his hands.

A million words formed on Tom's mouth as he looked at her again, shame and self-doubt on his face. He knew that she was being kind, that this was probably what she was used to doing at Christmas. _But we won't be able to do such things. She'll have to realize – the typewriter. This – whatever this is. We won't be able to afford it, next year - _

"Open it, Tom," she commanded, her voice small but firm.

Turning to place a quick kiss on her brow, Tom reached out his empty hand for the small box. Wrapping the arm that held her back around, he brought the two together, so that his hands met at the tiny box, just in front of her. He tugged at the shiny ribbon a bit, and pulled the bow loose. Whisking it off the box, he sat the package in Sybil's lap for a moment, his hands moving to wrap the ribbon into a neat spiral around his fingers. "Another bookmark," he said quietly, tucking it into the pocket of his pants.

Sybil smiled at this, pleased that he seemed to be accepting her gift.

In another moment he reached for the present again, his hand brushing her thigh lightly through her skirts. She closed her eyes at the touch, and for a moment both of them forgot about everything besides each other. Yet it was still there, the little red box, when her eyes opened again.

The paper, now free of the ribbon, slipped from the box easily. It was plain – nothing terribly fancy. Just a simple white box, marked with the name of a store that Tom had never heard of before, and a city: New York.

He reached to slip the top of it off, half afraid of what he might find inside. _Something useful,_ he prayed. _And not too expensive._

In the darkness of the room, the crystal face of a watch caught the light of the fire.

"It's not new. In fact, honestly, Tom, it's older than both of us, together, probably. It was – " Her slender fingers reached into the box to remove the small object. "It was my grandfather's," she said softly.

Tom nodded. "The Earl's?" he questioned, not sure he wanted an answer.

"No." Sybil turned slightly, so she could face him a bit better. "It belonged to Granddad. Mama's father. He gave it to me, when I visited America, as a child. He told me that it was the watch he'd carried when he was a young man, just starting to make his way in the world. He purchased it with the first profits of his business."

Sybil reached out to place the watch in Tom's hand, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was – he wasn't from a wealthy family. In fact, I think, from what he said, that he was quite poor, when he was young. But he was determined to change his lot. Determined to make something of himself. And he did. He started his own store, and did well enough that before long, he had two or three. By the time he married Grandmama, several years later, he was quite an established man."

"I see."

It felt like a terribly inadequate response, but it was all that Tom could think to say. And he did see. Why Sybil wanted to give it to him. What she was trying to tell him.

His thumb fell onto the watch, cool in his hand. He rubbed the face of it gently, still searching for the proper words.

"And – there wasn't a chain for it – so I made one."

Tom turned a slightly confused face to her, his thumb running over the fob. It was dark and smooth, though he could feel the tiny bumps of a braid in it.

"Is it –?"

Sybil flushed slightly and smiled. "I know it's rather old fashioned. But I thought you might like it, considering…" she trailed off.

Tom smiled. "It is, isn't it? You hair?"

Sybil nodded.

"How?"

"I'd read about it, in books. It was quite fashionable, when Granny was young. There's a jeweler in Ripon who is about her age, who helped me with it."

Reaching for the piece, she turned it over in his palm. "He also etched the inscription in it," she explained.

Tom looked down and tilted his palm just slightly, allowing the fire to shine its light on the golden surface.

_Every Waking Minute_

He looked up at her, memory filling his blue eyes.

"You promised me that, once," she began softly. "And it took me so long to accept that promise. But I want you to know that is…" her voice broke slightly. "That is…what I mean to give you, too. My love, and my work. I will devote every waking moment to your happiness, too, Tom."

Past speech, Tom simply reached for her and pulled her into him, pressing his lips hard against hers. In just a moment's time they parted, and the kiss grew deeper, hotter, more insistent. Sybil felt herself turning against his body, reaching to tug at his hair, her fingers running along his neck, under his collar. She felt his own hands, moving down her body, cupping under her bum, pulling her forward, until she was turned completely to face him, her legs straddling him.

She groaned then, her body suddenly warm, heady, wet, as she pressed into him, trying, as if moved by every single ounce of effort and strength that she had, to settle all of her weight downward. Harder, deeper, stronger. She couldn't have even have explained why she was doing it, exactly, if she'd paused to think about it. It just felt right. Good. Perfect. Drunk on her own happiness, and the desire coursing through her, Sybil let her instinct lead her.

Tom groaned deeply, pulling his lips from hers, only to hum them against her throat. His hands started to pick up their pace as he rubbed them up and down her body, pulling her closer, closer, until there was no space between them, and then beginning to sneak them around to her front, sensing in her urgency that she might not mind if his hands ghosted across her. And she didn't. Indeed, she pulled her own head back, slightly, and grinned at him rather wickedly, giving him her approval.

And then a smile played on her mouth. Licking her now red lips, she took in a deep breath, and leaned towards his, against him, until her lips were just at his ear. She kissed him there, teasing the skin and licking the edge of his ear with her tongue, taking it just slightly into her mouth. And then it was just her warm breath, on him, as she leaned close to whisper the words she wanted to say so badly, but could have not yet said in the light, to his face.

"_Every_ moment, my love. Waking….in the day…and at _night_ _too_."

* * *

_Ah, the rules they're breaking. They seem so little, but they would have felt so big to them, I think. Next up - a secret or two spilled._


	21. Ten (Tasty) Minutes

_When I sat down to write this chapter, a couple of days ago, it didn't go quite according to plan. I'd intended to write something else, but when I started counting the days and weeks, I realized that this should probably come next. So, I wrote it and saved it, with the intent to go back and do some editing (though I know it's sometimes hard to tell), and that was that. Then I checked my e-mail before going to bed, and saw a new post for Love's Journey, from the Yankee Countess. After squealing (I love that fic!) I decided to save it for morning. In the meantime, I was already working out the next FP chapter in my mind. Fast forward to this morning, when I go to open up the latest LJ, and I see two words – Servant's Ball. And it's 1918. Which, incidentally, is what I had just decided to write about. So – long story short, I quickly closed it, and then spent the next several hours pondering whether or not I should post about the same event, at virtually the same time. Then I remembered all of the great – and very different – Christmas fics that were popping about a month ago, and said to heck with it – why not? My Sybil and Tom and hers are different, so – here goes! No offense, please, TYC – and I'm really looking forward to see what you do with Sybil and Tom at the ball…..as soon as I finished writing the next chapter!_

_Anyway._

_This chapter isn't really as much of a chapter as it is a bridge. The next chapter – well, that will be a different story. I remember thinking about it, actually, when I watched the Christmas Special for Season Two. A servant's ball? Hmm. That would have been rather interesting, when Sybil and Tom were still at Downton. So – that's what will come next, after this. (And please be patient, as I suspect it will be a heck of a chapter to write.) And then we'll get back to our secrets and the spilling of them. _

_In the meantime – a short scene in Tom's cottage._

* * *

"I have ten minutes."

The voice came out of the darkness. Tom looked around the dim cottage, trying to figure out where she was.

_You have no idea what I could do with ten minutes,_ he thought. _No. Idea._

He saw her then, across the room, standing next to his bookshelf. She was in her uniform, an arm wrapped around her torso, the other at a right angle to it, her finger resting on her slightly pouting lip.

It took every ounce of self-control Tom had to not cross the room and pull her against him, pressing her up against the bookcases, kissing her, touching her, until neither one of them could bear it.

_You have to slow down. You've not come this far to push her too hard. You know you can't have her until you're married. Or else you'll just prove them right – that she's ruined and really has no other option._

Tom's hands balled into fits then, and then opened wide, his body trying to do something – anything – that involved release.

_But when she crawls into your lap, and tells me that she'll give me everything – day or night – and then stays there, for the next quarter of an hour, providing darn good evidence that she might just know how to do just that…_

_God._

_How did she – _

_How does she – _

_She was fully clothed. Fecking fully clothed. And so was I. And yet she was more alluring than any woman I have ever touched. Ever. And on top of everything else, we were in her parents' drawing room. The fecking Earl of Grantham's drawing room, in her mother's pink armchair, where her grandmother probably sat when they came back to the house after church for a Christmas Eve brandy._

It had been a rough couple of days for Tom Branson. He'd not been getting much sleep.

_I really need to get a newspaper job. _

_Now._

Sybil said nothing, as he fought this fight in his mind, yet again. The hint of a smile on her face, though caused him to suspect that she might have some idea as to his thoughts.

Finally, she spoke. "Are you ok?" she said, a certain look in her eye and a teasing expression on her lips.

Tom's head whipped up then, to meet her eyes with his. "Yes. I'm fine. My shoulder is – "

"That's not what I meant. I know that your shoulder is fine."

Tom swallowed and allowed himself two tentative, slow, measured steps forward.

"I'm fine," he said again, his voice trembling just a bit.

"Yes. You are." Sybil replied, her lips starting to smolder as she pressed them together invitingly.

Another step. _I wonder how many it is, from one side to the other?_ he thought somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I am?" she teased softly.

Tom's eyes closed.

_Warm. Soft. Sweeter than anything I've ever tasted. _

His hands were in his pockets now. He'd always seemed to do that, around her. _So I can keep them off of her…._

Grasping for anything that might distract his body from the fact that she was there, just in front of him, in his dark cottage, with a full _ten minutes_ _– well, probably closer to nine now _ with nothing to do, he went for humor.

"And how are you, milady," he said, doffing an imaginary hat and bowing deep.

This made Sybil giggle. "I'm well, thank you, sir."

Another step. _Really – one more couldn't hurt, could it?_

"Tonight will be one of my last shifts, I think. They say they'll all be gone soon." Sybil's hands went down to her skirt, then, to pull it out into an A. "It's funny," she said, looking up from the striped fabric to Tom again. "The rest of the girls hate it – the uniform. But I love mine. I hope I don't have to give it back. It's - I think I like it better than anything I've ever worn."

"You'll miss nursing."

Sybil nodded, taking a casual step forward. "I will. A part of me wishes that I could stay on at the hospital, until we go. Keep busy."

_Until we go. We say those words so casually now. Who would have thought, a few months ago?_

She looked down again then, and smiled into the darkness. "Do any of the nurses you've seen in Dublin wear anything like this?"

"I suppose so. Though most of the nurses that I've seen at hospital there are Sisters, so they are in their habits, of course."

Sybil frowned. "I will be able to find work there, won't I? Even though I'm not a Sister, or even Catholic?"

Tom breathed out. "Love, if things continue to get worse in Dublin, I doubt if anyone would mind. They'll need every nurse there."

"But it will be odd. A British Protestant, nursing."

Tom frowned slightly. "Perhaps." He knew there was much more to it than that, but he didn't really want to have this conversation tonight.

Sensing his hesitance, Sybil tried to lighten the mood again. "You look very handsome in your uniform," she purred, stepping closer to Tom and reaching out her hands for him. "Very handsome…."

She turned her head up to him, expectedly.

_Eight. Maybe seven. _Tom's head dropped down, his hands already out of his pockets and moving around her. _Seven and a half, perhaps._

Warm mouth met warm mouth, and there was no talking for a few moments. Just moans and sighs and the sound of wet lips tasting wet lips.

Sybil's hands sliding up Tom's back, fingers trailing along the green wool, finding his collar. "You need to take this to Dublin," she murmured, a wicked grin forming on her face as she pulled back ever so slightly from the kiss.

Tom's eyebrow raised. "After all the time I've spent in this thing, chasing you about, and just when I'm to be rid of it, you want me to take it with me?"

Sybil's eyes darkened slightly. "Well, I have spent an awful lot of time thinking about you in it….or out of it…." she added, her voice on the border between nerves and sauce.

_Done. Absolutely done. That she's thought of me, like that - _Tom's knees nearly buckled. "Sybil – love –"

"Oh, I just meant seeing you in regular clothing, of course. A suit, like in Liverpool." She was having a hard time not laughing as she teased. "Whatever else did you think I meant, Mr. Branson?" she said flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes.

Tom groaned loudly. "You will be the death of me, Sybil –" He stopped then, a confused look flashing across his face. "What's your middle name? I don't think I've ever heard you mention it."

Sybil grinned. "Patricia."

"Patricia? Patricia? The feminine form of Patrick, the patron saint on Ireland?" Tom's voice was incredulous, amused. "That's it. I now think I believe in fate."

Sybil laughed. "And yours is what, George? For our beloved king?"

This earned her a dirty look. "Andrew. Patron Saint of Scotland, oddly. My mother used to say that she was careful in choosing our names, so they'd sound well when she had to call them out, down the street, for us to come in for dinner."

Sybil shook her head at the picture. _Such different childhoods we had…_

"So – anyway. Getting back to that nice suit you have ….." One of her hands started to snake into his hair then, the other coming around to his tie. "I'll get to see you in it again, on Saturday, right?"

"Saturday…." Tom murmured, wondering what in the world he'd managed to forget. "Saturday."

"The servants ball?" Sybil responded, her other hand coming around to his tie, which she began loosening, ever so gently, her eyes focused now on the white skin there, of his neck.

"The what?" Tom looked very confused now, and a trifle alarmed.

"The servants ball. It's a Downton tradition. Sometime during Christmastide we always have a ball for the servants and the whole household. We've not had them the past few years, of course, with the war. But Mama plans on having one this year, and just inviting the few soldiers who are still here to attend."

Tom's eyes closed. _Oh God._

He opened them again, just slightly, so there were blue, narrow slits staring at her.

"You want me to attend this."

Sybil looked slightly annoyed as she continued to fuss with his tie, now not so much undoing it as she was simply playing with it. "Of course. Everyone does."

"You want me to walk into your father's house, in ordinary clothing – to dance with you – in front of everyone, and pretend like there's nothing more?"

"You came in for Christmas Eve."

"To an empty house! Sybil, do you realize -?" he broke off, stepping back, suddenly feeling as though the room, which had previously seemed enormous, was much too small.

"What?" she asked archly. "And it wasn't empty, as you full well know. And since no one has seemed to put that one together, that we were both home from the service, why would they do it at the ball?"

"Because I didn't have to dance and spin you around the room in my arms while looking completely relaxed, like a good _servant_ – " he nearly hissed the word – "In front of your entire family and the rest of the staff, then."

"So don't ask me to dance. You don't have to." She was clearly annoyed.

"Sybil."

"Someday we will have to face them, you know." She bit the words rather harshly, tiny exclamation points hanging in the air between them.

"I know that very well, Sybil, thank you. That is a conversation that I have had many, many times in my head, already. Trying to imagine what they will say, when we announce our intentions. And what I will say. God knows – "

"Tom –" Sybil's arms were across her chest now, though her anger was beginning to dissipate. Instead, she could feel the beginnings of tears forming in her eyes. _Bloody fool. Why can't I ever argue with him without wanting to punch him and kiss him simultaneously?_

"Tom – " she started again. "I know that the ball could be rather – awkward – for you. But truthfully, I believe it would be to your advantage to come. You can dance with Edith, and with Mama, and maybe even Granny. And they'll see you looking your best, behaving as any gentleman would. And maybe, after we've told them, one of them will look back on it and think about how handsome you were, how nicely you danced, and it will be something to begin from. A pleasant memory."

A thousand bitter retorts sprang to Tom's lips, but he bit them back. _Maybe she has a point. _

Then another thought crossed his mind. "And Mary? Should I expect your oldest sister to be pleasant as well, or will she be too busy attempting to poison my drink throughout the evening?"

Sybil couldn't help it then. She laughed, her hand rising to cover her mouth in a weak attempt to hide her amusement at the mental images she was forming of Mary, a vial in her hand, playing the assassin.

The laughter was enough to break most of the tension in the room then. Tom felt his body relax, his shoulders slumping into a more comfortable stance.

"She would be rather good at it, I think," Sybil snickered. "Though I don't think she'd go for you first."

Tom's eyebrow raised. "Who then?"

Sybil snorted softly. "Well, if she was going to kill anyone, it would have been Edith, long ago. Or Lavinia. Or Sir Richard, I think."

"She's still going to marry him?" he asked, turning slightly so the moonlight from outside lighted his face through the window.

"I suppose she will."

Tom shook his head then, his hands dropping to his waist. "You Crawley girls. You do have interesting taste in men."

"I suppose we do," Sybil responded, taking a step forward, so she was just in front of Tom again. She leaned forward, so that her entire body was pressed up again his, her mouth opening greedily, already anticipating his kiss. "Though personally, _I think_ you taste rather good."

* * *

_Mmmm. _

_Any servant ball dance pairings you'd like me to fashion for Sybil and Tom, besides the ones mentioned above? Leave a comment and let me know!_


	22. In Her Father's House

_Ok, my profound apologies that it took me a week to get this up. I started to write it the moment I posted the last little chapter, and needless to say, it Just. Kept. Coming. And I apologize also because I didn't manage to get together quite all of the pairings you've requested, though you did give me some excellent ideas for future story bits. I felt odd writing scenes between characters that Sybil and Tom were not a witness to, so, for example, I did have Edith and Thomas dance and socialize together, but we don't get to hear their conversations, because Sybil and Tom are off having their own adventures._

_Anyway – thanks again for reading! Comments and suggestions are, as always, much appreciated!_

* * *

Had anyone ever asked her, she would have said that she could have felt him enter the room. _It's absurd,_ she thought. _It's almost like I can sense him. Like we're bound by some sort of invisible cord._

Yet his presence did little to calm her. Tonight, she was not a little apprehensive, as though the concerns he'd voiced in the garage the other day had become her own.

_We're with each other all of the time, around my family. Motor trips to Ripon. Riding to church on Sundays. Going to call on Cousin Isobel, or Granny, to take tea._ _But this is different. Tonight, he'll hold me in his arms, and dance with me, with my entire family watching. And, please God, no one will think twice about it._

The thought made Sybil uncomfortable. A part of her desperately wanted people to see them together and just see that they were in love. She'd seen it in couples before – though rarely. The way he looked at her, the way she always reached out to touch him, subtly, as they'd walked down the street.

_That's one reason I cherish the memory of Liverpool so much_, she thought. _There, in the happiness of a strange city, for four short days, we were that couple._

A part of her wanted her family to see that. She wanted them to know her well enough to know that she was happy, incandescently so, even. She'd thought about it a lot. Should she let herself take that risk?

_Should I let the mask drop? Should I waltz about in his arms, letting every single emotion I have for him show on my face, as unladylike as it might be?_

_What would be the harm?_

_They'll know soon anyway._

Or at least she hoped they would.

The truth was, as much as she loved Tom, she was scared. Every day he sent out another inquiry, searching for a job in Dublin. There had been nothing thus far. And she knew it was early. So early. He'd only been doing it, really, for a week or so. And she knew, if she was honest with herself, that Tom's writing could use a bit of improvement. He still struggled with being too verbose, with fitting his long and complex ideas into short, abrupt, journalistic sentences.

She knew that she should keep the mask on tonight, if only to buy them more time. Because the moment her family – _my parents,_ she corrected herself, _Mary already knows….something –_ realized, the game would be up for Tom, and he'd be forced off the estate, which meant that they would both need to leave. _Because I could never let him go, without me. I will be there, standing at his side, the moment his feet step off of Downton land._

The thought scared her more than a little.

_And we cannot go until he has work. _

_We must, must, be able to support ourselves. We cannot possibly go to Dublin without some plan for the future._

She would not put Tom in that position, if she could possibly help it. She would not ask him to take her to Dublin, to his mother, with no prospects, no work lined up. _I can only imagine what she would think of me then,_ Sybil often thought, picturing a woman's face before her, worn from work and age, with Tom's blue eyes. _It will be bad enough, I'm sure, that I'm English, and a lady at that. But to make him go to his mother, and ask her to support us, until we can both find employment…._

It was unthinkable.

They would find a way.

Tom would find work.

_Please God, soon._

She straightened up then, from the refreshment table, where she'd been standing, her thoughts across the Irish Sea, her body still very much at Downton. She blinked then, looking down at the biscuits before her. _Best keep my mind here, tonight, _she thought.

Letting her gaze linger on the biscuits, she tried to pick out the ones that she had baked that morning, in the early predawn hours, with Daisy's help.

"They look right nice, I think," she heard Daisy say.

Sybil looked up, startled to hear Daisy speaking to her in such an intimate way in the salon. _Yet that's what tonight is about,_ Sybil thought, mentally scolding herself. _ Everyone, coming together, regardless of class or position. _

"They do," Sybil responded, allowing herself a pleased smile.

Daisy grinned back, obviously restraining herself from saying anything more about them, should anyone be listening.

"Good evening, Lady Sybil," said Mrs. Patmore a moment later, coming to stand behind Daisy.

"Good evening, Mrs. Patmore," Sybil responded, politely. "The biscuits look very lovely this evening."

Mrs. Patmore nodded her thanks, before turning her sharp eyes to the table. "Thank you very much, milady."

Sybil's gaze followed hers, and just then she noticed one of the biscuits that decidedly did not look quite so nice, its form rather misshapen. _Likely one that I baked,_ Sybil thought, swooping her hand down to quick pick it up before Mrs. Patmore could see it, and scold Daisy. _It's hardly her fault after all, _Sybil thought, as she took a bite of the offending sweet.

"Ah, well, I think that nearly everyone will be here tonight. All of the female staff are down. And the men will come soon too – though they're never quite as eager as the women for the dancing," Mrs. Patmore waxed.

"You don't think it's improper for me to dance, do you?" Daisy turned to ask the cook. "Being a widow?"

"Of course not," Sybil responded, stepping back into the conversation before she could stop herself. "I'm sure that everyone understands that a dance will do nothing to harm the honor of William's memory."

Daisy flashed Sybil a weak smile. "Yes." She looked up then, her eyes scanning the room. "And will you be dancing with – " she started to ask, only to be interrupted by Sybil, who began to cough rather conveniently on her biscuit.

Sybil's hand rose to her mouth to cover her lips politely as she felt her face begin to redden, her eyes darting to Mrs. Patmore, and then back to the kitchen maid, whose own face was flushing with embarrassment. _Please God, Daisy! Don't give us away!_

"Oh my," Mrs. Patmore turned to busy herself fixing Lady Sybil a drink to help with her sudden cough. "Here. This will set you right," she said, turning to offer the cup to a rather flushed Sybil.

Daisy said nothing, but her eyes widened just slightly for a moment, as though she just realized what she had nearly done. She nodded her head discretely once, in Sybil's direction, and then looked back up.

At which point her eyes proceeded to get even bigger.

"Mr. Branson!" she said, sounding a bit startled, as though the conversation they'd just been having had suddenly conjured him up out of thin air.

Sybil felt herself stand up straighter at the girl's exclamation. This was the moment she'd been both dreading and awaiting eagerly all day.

_Don't grin like a fool. Don't reach out to touch him. And whatever you do, for God's sake, don't think about Daisy catching you in his cottage in your night clothes!_

"Good evening ladies," said an Irish voice. "Lady Sybil."

_God, I love his accent,_ Sybil thought, suddenly feeling like she was sixteen again. _I wonder if he'll still be able to turn my knees to gelatin like that, when we're old and gray together. _

"Mr. Branson," she said, trying to keep her voice calm.

He was standing next to her, close enough for her to be able to smell the aftershave that he wore on special occasions. The scent had lingered on the dress she'd worn on Christmas Eve for the next two days. She'd slept with it next to her pillow both that night and the next, careful to hide it during the day so Anna would not find it and take it for cleaning.

She breathed in deep, a vision of the pale skin of his neck before her. _The neck that I kissed, that I clung to. The neck that I might have left a couple of slight marks on…_

She flushed slightly at the memory.

_Now, turn and talk to him._

"Have you been looking forward to this evening, Branson?" she tried to ask casually, his surname tasting a bit odd on her tongue. She turned slightly, so she was standing more directly in front of him.

"Of course. When else do I have such a splendid opportunity to dance with so many beautiful ladies?" he teased, grinning at Mrs. Patmore and Daisy.

_In Liverpool. _

_At a pub._

The memory flooded her senses.

_What I wouldn't give to be back there again, in his arms, to dance like that…._

Sybil looked down at her hand then, wondering at the contents of her punch glass. _I don't suppose there's any whiskey in this. Or at least not enough to get me as drunk as I was that night. _She took a drink then, hiding her smile in her cup.

"Will each of you ladies save me a dance, this evening?" Tom asked jovially.

She felt it then, just the slightest movement against her skirt. The two fingers at the side of his hand, reaching out to brush the fabric of her skirt. It was an innocent enough gesture – surely not proper, but something that could easily be excused as an accident.

"I'd be honored, Mr. Branson," she said, turning to smile warmly at him, roses on her pale English cheeks.

Had their conversation ended there, Sybil knew that Tom would have swept her out onto the floor for the first dance, once her father and Mrs. Hughes, along with Mama and Mr. Carson, opened the ball. As a 'lady', she would receive precedence over Mrs. Patmore and Daisy, though she was sure that Tom would dance with both of them as well, before the evening was over. Just a moment later, though, Edith walked over to join their small circle, seeking out her preferred sister and Branson, her driving teacher, as potentially pleasant companions.

Sybil, meanwhile, was trying to send Tom mental messages to ask Edith to dance, and take her out on the floor first, thereby giving her precedence as the older daughter. He seemed to understand, bowing slightly to Edith and asking her for a dance as soon as the opening waltz had finished.

Edith, clearly pleased at the attention, turned and handed her punch cup to Sybil, and accepted Tom's offer. They danced together two numbers, during which Sybil drifted towards one of the small tables set up on the edge of the dance floor. She had just barely settled herself, though, before she heard a familiar male voice requesting her hand.

"Perhaps one dance tonight, for your Papa?"

Sybil looked up at her father and smiled. _Perhaps the last, for awhile,_ she thought, a touch of sadness washing over her. She quickly brushed it aside, though, and reached out for her father's hand. "Of course."

She rose then, and the two stepped out on the floor together.

The dance was a faster number, something rather modern. Sybil caught a disapproving grimace on her grandmother's face as they spun past her, and she found herself giggling slightly in reaction, something her father caught and asked her to explain. She did, and soon he was smiling too at his mother's obvious displeasure, giving her a deliberate grin as they made their way past another time.

As the dance came to an end, Sybil turned to curtsy to her father as he bowed. Her eyes rose from the floor just as she heard the voice she loved.

"I wonder if I might have Lady Sybil, milord?"

Tom's tone was confident, if his palm a bit clammy. "She promised me a dance earlier, and I would be remiss if I did not ask her to fulfill that promise," he explained, as Lord Grantham's expression changed from one of slight annoyance to understanding.

"Of course, Branson. She's yours."

Tom's blue eyes began to sparkle with mirth as he watched Sybil try to control her expression. Her lips were struggling not to twitch, the corners turning upward the smallest bit.

"Thank you, milord," he said politely, as Lord Grantham moved to place Lady Sybil's hand in his.

His grip on her hand was a little bit tighter than it needed to be, as he squeezed it gently. "Milady," he said, nodding his head to her.

She dipped down slightly, relishing the moment. "Mr. Branson," she responded, feeling a bit like the heroine of a Jane Austen novel.

When she rose back from her curtsey, though, and finally met Tom's eyes, she found him grinning wickedly. Checking to see if anyone was near, she dropped her voice slightly. "That was…."

"Completely uncalled for and arrogant, I know," he responded, causing her to laugh suddenly.

Sybil smiled then, the full brilliance of her love for Tom shining for an unchecked moment. "You are fearfully incorrigible," she scolded happily, as the music began. _Which is exactly how I like you, if you must know, _she add.

"Ah, well….Tom said, smiling broadly as they went to take the first step of the dance together. His broad shoulders shrugged slightly. "What's a man in love to do?" he said softly, just for her to hear.

Sybil said nothing, but smiled broadly, relaxing into his touch.

It wasn't the pub, and they certainly weren't alone. But it was still heaven, or a tiny slice thereof. They talked about little of consequence during the dance, but still – they talked. They spoke. They held. They loved. All in the Lord of Grantham's salon.

Sybil found herself praying suddenly that this wouldn't be their last time here, at such an event. _Maybe in a few years, we'll be able to come for Christmas, and celebrate with them again._

The song finished too quickly, of course. They parted, reluctantly, at its end, their hands wanting to linger on each other's bodies even as they forced themselves to step back. Tom's eyes were dark as he watched her, fighting every single ounce of his body, wanting nothing more than to pull her close and kiss her deeply, completely oblivious to everyone around them.

_But, alas,_ he cautioned himself. _Soon. And then the dance will not have to end. You'll have her, every day, every night…_

He sighed then, and with a soft "One more, later?", to which she nodded, he released her hand and turned, forcing his eyes to find somewhere else to light.

He danced then with Mrs. Patmore, and finally with Daisy. The kitchen maid smiled happily at Tom as they stepped off, though she seemed to struggle initially to make conversation, not sure what she should or should not be discussing with Tom.

Sensing her uncertainty, Tom took the lead. "The Christmas pudding was excellent. I've not had a chance to thank you, properly, for helping prepare it."

Daisy smiled, letting out a breath she'd been holding in. "Thank you. Lady Sybil did well making it. They can be tricky."

Tom nodded. "I remember one year when my sister decided to surprise Mam and make the pudding herself. It was a right mess."

"There's an art to it."

Tom smiled at the kitchen maid's serious tone.

"She's not a bad cook. She just seems afraid to trust herself."

_I could write a book on that,_ Tom thought, visions of York swimming before his eyes.

"Still, though, she must trust you."

The comment made Tom start. It was the first time that Daisy had made an unsolicited remark about his and Sybil's relationship.

"She does, thank God," Tom responded, not sure what else to say, unsure of what she might be referring to – their engagement, Sybil staying the night in his cottage with him, or possibly both.

"It takes a lot to marry a man, not knowing what the future might bring." Daisy blinked rapidly then, a trace of water appearing in her eyes.

_William. Of course._

"Aye."

It was all Tom could manage himself. Neither of them spoke for the remainder of the dance.

Sybil, meanwhile, had decided to join her grandmother for a moment at the table where she sat. Violet hated these balls passionately, as everyone knew, but still attended them faithfully. "It may be a vial one, but it is still tradition, my dear," she announced one year when the girls were much younger, and Sybil had made the mistake of asking her Grandmother who she looked so miserable during such a wonderful party.

She greeted her grandmother with a kiss, leaning down to touch her lips to the soft, wrinkled skin. _I'll miss her a great deal, for all of her grumbling about servants and one's proper place. I doubt she'll ever forgive me for it – running off with the chauffeur._

"Ah, Sybil darling. Are you enjoying yourself at this festive occasion?" Violet intoned dryly.

Sybil could barely suppress her smile. "Yes, thank you, I am. I rather like these informal parties. It's nice to have everyone together."

Disapproving, if gentle, eyes peered at Sybil down an aristocratic nose. "No it's not. It's very awkward, and we'd all be better for acknowledging it."

Sybil said nothing.

"Who all have you danced with this evening, my dear?" Violet asked, ever a lady trained to make conversation, even about things she'd rather not discuss.

"Only with Papa, and Mr. Branson."

"_Mr._ Branson?" Violet asked, seeming to struggle with the name.

_Intentionally, I don't doubt,_ Sybil thought, a bit irritated at her Grandmother's not so subtle prod.

"Oh, you must meet _Branson_, the chauffeur," Violet responded, a moment later.

Sybil bit her tongue. _No, I mean Tom. Your future grandson._

"Does he dance well?"

Sybil nearly fell off her chair at the question. _Why would you care?_ _Or do you think that I care?_ Reaching her hands down to clasp them in her lap, far from her grandmother's sharp gaze, Sybil paused for a moment in an attempt to collect herself.

"Very well." She didn't trust herself to say more.

"Well, he is Irish. They do rather like to be the center of attention, of course. I don't doubt it's the Fenian blood."

_Which your great-grandchildren will have._ Sybil felt her cheeks warming as she bit back a smile.

Thankfully, a distraction appeared just then, in the form of Mr. Mosley, who was very obviously looking around the room for someone.

"Oh, there comes Mosley. Do NOT let him ask me for a dance!" Violet whispered conspiratorially across the table to Sybil.

Before her amused granddaughter could reply, Mr. Mosley presented himself before the small table. "Lady Grantham, Lady Sybil," he said, bowing deeply.

"Good evening Mr. Mosley," Violet responded, her tone dry.

"Good evening," Sybil echoed.

"I wonder, milady, if I might have the honor of a dance," he asked eagerly, his eyes on Violet.

Violet fingered the silver knob of her cane then, as if she might be considering using it to defend herself.

"Why don't you ask my granddaughter, Mosley? I fear I'm rather tired tonight…." As if magic, Violet's voice was now thin and weak.

_She's very good,_ Sybil thought, watching the performance. _Very good._

Mosley, though, was not to be dissuaded. "It is tradition, though, milady, for your ladyship to dance with his Lordship's valet."

Violet's eyes nearly rolled then.

"As Mr. Bates cannot dance, I thought I might claim the honor, since I look after the young Mr. Crawley, his Lordship's heir."

_He's really reaching,_ Sybil thought.

Violet's grip on her cane tightened further. She glanced then at her granddaughter, as if waiting for Sybil to intervene.

Sybil, though, was determined to have none of it. _It serves her right, for being such a snob._

"I suppose I can manage one dance, if I must," Violet said feebly, bringing a bright smile to Mr. Mosley's face.

Sybil watched carefully, amused. _This should be good._

Nothing, however, could have possibly have prepared her for what happened next.

Lady Grantham rose slowly from her chair, making a rather large, if non-verbal, production of how much agony she was suddenly in. After a moment she finally righted herself, standing up to face Mosley, who looked right pleased with himself.

As if preparing to do battle, Violet focused a determined gaze on Mosley, her head level with his.

Just then, out of nowhere, there came a sound from Mosley.

_Oh my God! He just belched in Granny's face!_ Sybil felt her jaw drop, and her hand begin to rise slowly from her lap to cover her mouth and muffle the giggles she was working hard to hold back.

In that moment, though, the only thing more priceless than the look on Mosley's face was the look on Violet's.

To say that she was repulsed would have been a gross understatement. Never had her nose been quite so offended, her eyes rarely open quite so wide. The Dowager Countess of Grantham, it seemed, was, perhaps for the first time in her life, completely speechless.

The conclusion of the next tune found Tom and Daisy standing before the Crawleys. Whereas Daisy scuttled off quickly, though, Tom found himself lingering, sneaking a glimpse at Lady Grantham as she looked from her husband to a nearby clock.

_They're probably planning their escape._

_Which means that if I mean to fulfill my promise to Sybil, I'll need to –_

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. _I can do this. _

_I will._

_For Sybil. For any chance we might have - _

He saw her then, across the room, speaking to her grandmother. She looked so lovely – her curls bundled up in an elaborate chignon, her face animated.

_She loves me. _

_Me._

The thought still sent a thrill through him, boosting his courage.

_She chose me._

He stepped forward towards Lady Grantham then, confidently, meeting and holding her dark brown eyes. "Milady, I wonder if you might do me the honour of dancing with me," he asked, emboldened by his happiness and pride.

Cora glanced at Robert briefly, and then back to Tom. "Of course. It would be my pleasure," she said, in her warm American accent.

"Thank you," Tom said, nodding his head to his Lordship who, once again, looked slightly annoyed with him.

_Sybil looks a bit like her,_ Tom thought, as he extended his hand to Cora. _And I think she rather has some of her American courage too._

"And how are you this evening, Branson?" Cora asked, as they music began.

"Quite well, thank you," Tom responded, smiling.

_My future mother-in-law. An American heiress turned Countess. The daughter of a self-made man._

"Did you have a nice holiday? I know it must be difficult for you, being away from your family," Cora said, sounding quite sympathetic.

_Yes, she would know,_ Tom thought suddenly, realizing for the first time how much he and Cora, as two foreigners in a strange land, actually had in common.

"How is your shoulder? I know that Lady Sybil was quite concerned about your return to driving."

Tom fought the urge to smirk slightly then, remembering Sybil's stubborn insistence on the morning of Christmas Eve as she explained to Mr. Carson that _he's just not healed yet_. "Yes. She was very….thorough…in her care. It is much improved now." He paused then, as if wondering if his next thought might be too presumptive. "And thank you, your ladyship, for asking."

Cora smiled. "Of course."

A moment of silence passed then, and Cora's gaze drifted across the room as they continued the lazy waltz, their feet moving in a steady count of three. "Everyone looks very nice tonight," she finally said, smiling as though bestowing her blessing across the room, a gentle queen giving her approval to her subjects.

Tom found himself surprisingly charmed by her obvious delight in her family and staff.

In another moment, her gaze came back to rest on him. She seemed to examine him closely then, her eyes passing over the worn fabric of his suit jacket and matching waistcoat.

Something she saw, then, brought a wistful look to her face. "I do like a pocket watch on a man. Wristlets are all the rage now, in London, of course, but I do prefer a pocket watch myself. I suppose it's because my father always wore one.

Tom could feel his color start to fade as he looked down involuntarily at the pocket watch he was wearing across his waistcoat. He felt his hands involuntarily tighten their grip on Cora.

_Holy Mother of…_

_She couldn't. _

_It's not possible…._

_But it is _her _father's watch. _

_Oh dear God –_

He nearly stepped on her foot then.

"Branson?" she asked, her sharp brown eyes catching the flash of panic that flitted across his features.

Slightly terrified blue eyes looked into hers. "Milady. I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

"No, no, it's alright," she said, looking a bit confused at the sudden shift in Tom's demeanor.

_Please God. I'll do anything. Just don't let her ask where it's –_

He tried to breathe and act normal. _Just say thank you. Pretend that there's nothing wrong. _ It took him a moment, though to find his voice. Finally, he managed to speak."Thank you. For the compliment."

_Eyes up, Tom. Try to act normal. Pretend._

"Of course," Cora said, glancing at it again. "Was it a gift?"

Tom's eyes flickered shut. _If the floor could only open up, and swallow us all, right now…. _Forcing himself to open them again, he attempted to sound as nonchalant as possible, though he felt as though his stomach was now somewhere near his throat. "Yes, it was."

_From your daughter. She gave it to me, just a few days ago, in your drawing room. On Christmas Eve, when you thought her to be sick in bed, your injured chauffeur tucked safely in his cottage. We were here, though, together, in your house. I gave her a song, and she gave me this. And then I nearly came apart right there, in your pink chair, your daughter on my lap…._

Tom cleared his throat softly, willing his face to remain calm, though his thoughts were awhirl, memories of the feel of Sybil's body and the words she spoke filling his head. _It belonged to Grandad. Mama's father._

"A very nice one, I'm sure," she responded hesitantly, not entirely sure what Tom might do next.

He swallowed hard. _It was a lovely gift, and a meaningful one. And if you're wondering, yes, you've seen it before. You might not recognize it at first, but it actually is your father's. You probably played with it, when you were a child. And now your chauffeur is wearing it, for all the world to see._

"Yes."

_Well done, Tom. Well done. _

By the end of the dance, Tom felt as though he was standing on the edge of a high precipice. _And this was why I didn't want to come,_ he thought to himself, nearly shaking. He tried to thank Cora for the dance as normally as possible, though he could feel her eyes following him as he turned and walked across the room, seeking out the safety of the refreshment table, where he poured himself a rather generous glass of punch. Though he tried to drink it calmly, the truth was that he desperately wanted to sneak it around the corner and throw it back, consuming whatever sort of alcohol might be in it as quick as possible in order to calm his heightened nerves. He found himself wishing that he carried a flask with him, as a good shot of whiskey right then might have been the only thing to do the trick.

Fate, however, was not done with him.

As he turned to fill his cup a second time, he heard a cutting voice behind him.

"Ah, Branson. That looks rather refreshing," it said, simultaneously sweet and sour.

Tom straightened up and turned to face another set of brown eyes. "Milady."

She glanced at him, and then back at the punch bowl, her gaze deliberate.

Tom found himself biting his tongue. _And now I have to pour her a bloody drink. She couldn't possibly bring herself to do anything involving work, of course. _

"Would you like a glass, milady?" he asked, through gritted teeth.

"You're _too_ kind."

Tom poured the liquid carefully, wishing for a moment that he was the one with the vial in his pocket.

"Thank you," she said haughtily, as he handed her the cup. Taking a deep draught, she watched him closely over the rim.

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier, dancing with my sister."

Tom's hand moved into his pocket, then _so I don't wrap it around her neck,_ he thought wryly.

Suddenly, though, his sense of humor returned. "Yes!" he replied, suddenly a bit more enthusiastic. "Lady Edith does an excellent Fox Trot. Right nice."

Delicate eyebrows wrinkled. "That's _not_ who I am referring to, as you well know."

He waited a moment, attempting to keep his voice measured. "Ah, then you must be referring to _Lady_ Sybil. Yes, she dances well too."

He could have sworn he heard a slight 'hmpf'.

Deciding that he was not going to let Mary have the upper hand if he could help it, Tom decided to plunge in, headfirst. _I might as well put her on edge too. Misery loves company, as they say._

He turned then, to face Mary square on. "I don't suppose you would complete the trio for me then, a dance with each Crawley sister?"

Dark eyes stared hard at him. This was not how the chauffeur was to address a lady of the house.

Tom, however, did not wait for a reply. Instead, he simply reached out, took her now empty punch cup from her hand, and moved to lead her out onto the dance floor.

Sybil saw them about halfway through the number. She was dancing with Thomas, who was dressed in his uniform. They chatted amicably together, having become friends of a sort during their time at the hospital together.

Tom and Mary, on the other hand, looked as though they were about to kill one another. Sybil had to bite back a laugh when she saw them.

Thomas caught her expression, and followed her gaze to them.

"Well, that's something I didn't think I'd ever see," he editorialized dryly.

Sybil smirked slightly.

"He didn't look like that when he was dancing with you, earlier," Thomas continued.

Sybil felt her stomach start to flutter. Had she been too obvious? She wasn't quite sure what to make of his comment. One thing she had learned about Thomas while they worked together was that he seemed to observe people quite astutely.

"I should hope not," she said, wanting to make some sort of joke at her sister's expense, but deciding that it would probably be inappropriate.

Thomas said nothing for a moment. She watched him a bit nervously, as his eyes flickered over her shoulder again, presumably at the warring dance partners.

"He's rather different, Mr. Branson is," Thomas finally said, a grudging note of respect in his voice. "I wonder sometimes that he's still here. He seems the sort who wouldn't be content to stay in one place for long."

Sybil breathed in deep. _That would be me- his reason. And he's not content to stay….though Thank God he has. _She thought back to the many times she'd asked him that herself over the years. _I do think that's a compliment, though, coming from Thomas. He's the ambitious sort too, I think. Just look at what he did, joining up in the army right away, and then coming back to serve at the hospital. _

"Does he talk about leaving?" Sybil asked, trying to sound nonchalant. She had no idea what Tom might have been saying downstairs, if he had let any hints drop that he would be returning to Ireland.

Thomas' brow furrowed slightly. "I don't know. I can't say that I really know him well. He keeps to himself. I don't know that he'd tell anyone if he was, until he left."

_Interesting. Apparently not. _Sybil pressed her lips together, wondering how far she could push the subject. _I wonder if he will want to say goodbye to anyone, when the time comes. _"He is a long way from home."

Thomas looked at her sharply.

_Shit. I've said too much, shown too much interest, and now he's going to be suspicious. _

Thomas didn't speak for a moment, but when he did, it was not what Sybil was expecting.

"You're very kind, to wonder after us, as you do."

"Thank you very much for the dance, Nurse Crawley," Thomas said, as the music ended.

"Of course. It was my pleasure," she smiled.

"Would you like a drink?" he offered, as they were now standing next to a small table.

"Yes, thank you."

She found her eyes roaming the room, as he turned to fetch them cups of punch. In a moment her eyes caught the light hair of her sister, who was watching with obvious amusement as Mary turned and stalked off from Tom, their dance having finished.

He turned then, and she said something to him that caused him to smile. He looked up, and seeing Sybil, began to walk in her direction, Edith following with him.

_I hope they'll be friends. _Sybil smiled warmly at her sister.

"I was just telling Branson that I think he deserves a medal for asking Mary to dance and surviving. Most of the men are normally too afraid of her to even consider it."

Sybil brought a hand up to her mouth to cover her giggle. _She called him a man. Not a servant. This is going well. Thank God I have one tolerable sister._

"Truly, you are brave," Edith said, turning to face Tom again. "Perhaps you'd like a drink for your effort?"

"That would be very nice, thank you," he said, nodding politely.

Sybil waited until Edith had followed Thomas to the punch bowl before turning to Tom. His back was to the room, so that he was standing and facing her. Sybil glanced behind him. "Did Mary utter any devious threats your way?"

Tom grimaced and reached to slide his hands into his pockets again, his fingers itching once more to reach out for her. "Threats would imply that she spoke to me."

"Ah." Sybil rolled her eyes. "I apologize then, on her behalf."

Tom said nothing for a moment, but shrugged his shoulders slightly. "Silence is golden, isn't that the expression?"

Sybil laughed.

"Here you are, Branson. A well-earned drink," Edith said, raising the cup as if to toast Tom, before releasing it into his hand.

He smiled at Edith, taking the glass and returning the salute. "Thank you kindly, Lady Edith."

"Nurse Crawley," Thomas said, offering Sybil a cup with a bit less fanfare.

"Thank you very much. Shall we?" Turning, Sybil reached for the chair nearest her.

In an instant, Tom and Thomas were reaching to pull out chairs for Sybil and Edith. Both sisters sat, facing one another across the table.

Sybil glanced up then, at Tom, who was now standing next to Edith, looking a bit uncomfortable. _Of course. They can't sit with us unless we – _

"And you must join us. Come on, now" Edith scolded, pushing out the chair next to hers in Tom's direction.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes darting from Sybil to Thomas, who upon Edith's invitation was now sitting down in a chair next to Sybil's.

Turning to Edith, Tom arched an eyebrow theatrically. "Are you sure your eldest sister will approve?" he asked, humor sparkling in his eyes.

Edith laughed. "No. Which makes it all the better, then." She took a sip then, seeming to relish it.

"She's not the only one, I'm afraid," Thomas said then, as he took a drink from his own cup. " Mr. Carson's just spotted us, I'm afraid."

Tom smirked, but said nothing.

In another moment, the butler was standing at their table, disapproval written on every inch of his tall frame

"Mr. Carson"

"Mr. Carson." Both Tom and Thomas stood as the frowning butler approached.

"Ladies," the butler said, bowing, to the girls, and only giving sharp looks to both men.

Sybil looked over at her sister, catching her eye. _I wonder what he wants. If he's over here to reprimand them for daring to sit with us..._

"Mr. Branson. I am sorry to disturb your - conversation," he said pointedly, his eyes sliding from Lady Edith to Lady Sybil, and then back to Tom, his tone revealing just the opposite. "But the Dowager Countess wishes to return to the Dowager House and will be requiring the car."

To Sybil's surprise, Edith moved to stand. "I'll go. Branson, don't even think of it. This is your evening to enjoy." Turning from Tom, Edith brought her eyes to Mr. Carson's. "I'll take Granny home. It's no trouble."

"But -" The butler began, his eyebrows inching into a tight v.

"Carson, I will take Granny." Her voice was firm.

Turning to Tom, she added, "I'll take the Renault, of course. I presume everything is in order as normal?"

"Of course, Lady Edith" Tom responded, his surprised expression melting into one of amusement as he struggled to keep his composure in front of the stern butler as his fiancee's sister insisted on doing his job for him.

Sybil, though, could tell that he was having a hard time with it. Turning to glance at her sister again, she wanted suddenly to stand up and embrace her. _Thank you for seeing him as a person, who deserves a bit of fun._

And then followed by another thought, of a much more serious nature.

_I wonder if it would be safe to tell her. _

Her eyes rose then, as if by force, to Tom. _I would so like her to know. I think she might be able to see him, perhaps, for the man he is._

"You will owe me a dance for this, though, when I return," Edith said to Tom, her voice teasing.

Sybil nearly laughed then, as Carson's eyebrows shot up at her sister's casual comment.

Before he could move to speak, though, Sybil decided that the time had come to take matters into her own hand. "Mr. Carson," she said, rising. "I wonder if I might have the honour of a dance."

The butler's eyebrows raised. _I wonder if he's ever had a woman ask him to dance before? _Sybil thought idly, amused at what the butler would perceive to be her brash request.

"Of course, milady," the butler said graciously, ever the gentleman, even if his expression did reveal him to be a bit befuddled by the way the two youngest Crawley sisters suddenly seemed to be managing him.

The last thing Sybil saw as she walked off, her hand resting on Mr. Carson's arm, were the highly amused expressions on the faces of the two Toms.

Edith returned, not too much later, and promptly claimed Tom, who had just finished a dance with Mrs. Hughes, for a lively two-step. They danced together happily, Lady Edith doing a pantomime afterwards that seemed to involve a great deal of gear shifting and something else that Sybil couldn't quite decipher from across the room.

She'd been talking to Anna, who had spent much of the night sitting with Mr. Bates at a table, his injury preventing him from dancing. Sybil watched, out of the corner of her eye, as Edith eventually left Tom to dance with Corporal Barrow. She watched as Tom, now alone, looked up and found her, on the other side of the room, with absolutely no effort.

_We are tied by an invisible cord, we two,_ she thought, paraphrasing one of her favourite novels slightly.

She looked down then, at her hand, which rested on the table. _All he has to do is look at me, and I nearly tremble._

It took her a moment to realize that Anna had just finished speaking, and was now waiting for her to respond. "I – I'm sorry," Sybil apologized vaguely, her cheeks flushing slightly. "My mind was – elsewhere."

"Of course," Anna said sweetly. "I was just saying what a nice party it has been tonight. I know that the younger ones will still want to stay down for awhile, but I think I'll be going up myself."

Sybil nodded absent-mindedly. _Yes, I suppose I shall have to leave soon too. Edith and I are already the last ones of the family here, and once she goes up people will find it odd if I'm still pottering about, dancing with the chauffeur. _

"Good night, milady," John said then, rising behind her, his hand reaching for Anna's chair.

"Good night, Mr. Bates. Anna." Sybil smiled warmly at them, watching them enviously as they rose and walked arm and arm across the salon.

She turned then, and glanced to the gallery above. _One more, perhaps, and then I should probably…._

"The third on the left, is it?"

The voice was low, musical.

Sybil smiled, but didn't turn. "Wouldn't you like to know," she retorted softly.

"You know where I sleep. "

Sybil flushed slightly, her lips pressed firmly together. _Yes. And I know how, too. Generally on your side, and, given the chance, with your arm wrapped around me._

"It's only fair. Equal rights and all."

Sybil reached out then, and began to toy with the fork on the plate in front of her.

"I've walked by at night, but I've never been able to tell for sure."

"Trying to get a glimpse?"

"Scouting so I'd know where to tell cupid to send his arrows."

"Or perhaps wanting to play a balcony scene?"

Tom chuckled softly at this, and let one of his hands come up, casually, to rest for just a moment on the back of her chair, so his fingers were brushing against her shoulder.

"It's odd, isn't it. If I stood here, and put my hand on your shoulder, it would be improper. Yet I can ask you for a dance, tonight at least, and suddenly I'm allowed to hold you, as we sway to music, for everyone to see.

Sybil was silent for a moment, as though she were watching the scene herself, from the outside. A young man, a young woman, holding one another tightly, waltzing across a nearly empty dance floor.

"Thank you for taking me dancing in Liverpool. I've been thinking about it a great deal, tonight."

"Of course." One of his fingers was rubbing back and forth, then, where the back of her dress ended and her white skin began.

An amused smile ghosted across her face.

"You were so gallant – carrying me home to Susan and James'."

Tom snorted softly at that. "Well, it was either that or leave you passed out in the street," he said, his tone teasing.

"I'd like to go back and see them again, when we leave," she said, her voice becoming more serious again.

"So would I."

Neither spoke for a moment.

"Tom," Sybil said softly, calling him his Christian name for the first time that evening. "I'd like to tell Edith. About us. I think she – She knows you, better than anyone else, in my family. And she respects you. I think she – I think she might be able to be happy for us, when she gets over the shock. I'd like to share our – news – with her, if you agree."

She heard Tom breathe out behind her then, the hot rush of breath from his mouth coming down to tease the bare skin of her neck.

"That's fine."

"May I? You don't mind?" Sybil turned in her chair now, wanting to see his expression.

Tom nodded. "I think you might be right about her."

_I think it might be something she would appreciate, too. Sharing my dearest secret, before anyone else knows._

Both of them watched as Edith and Thomas continued to dance, deep in conversation about something, across the room.

Just then they turned, and Edith looked up, seeing first her sister, and then Tom, and then her sister again. Sybil couldn't be sure, but she had she been a betting woman, she'd have wagered a great deal that in that moment, a light in Edith's mind had started to dawn.

"I will miss her. I hope that when things settle down, a bit, that she'll come over for the wedding."

_And thus she speaks, so casually, about our marriage, in the middle of her father's house. _It took everything Tom had not to reach down then, and kiss her.

"You know, that might be the next time we dance together. At our wedding breakfast." The smile on his face was curling out to the corners of his mouth. "As Mr. and Mrs. Branson."

Sybil smiled widely in response, as though a ray of sunlight beamed from within her.

The music slowing then, she stood and reached for Tom's hand, pulling him towards the dance floor. "I promised you one more, tonight, though, first."

"You did," he responded. Stepping next to her, he placed a hand at her waist, and reached to grasp her hand with his.

Just as the musicians struck the beginning chord of the song, she leaned in closer to him, a mischievous glint in her blue gray eyes. "And you were right, by the way. Third from the left in windows, but the second from the left in doors."

* * *

_Done! Now - secrets!_


	23. Secrets

_Alright. Ready for a scene that would have never have been a possibility for the screen? See below. Tom and Sybil trade a couple of premarital secrets._

* * *

"You timed that well," Tom said as Sybil stepped into the small cottage, a sheet of rain suddenly beginning to fall.

Sybil smiled, her expression a bit tired. "I've always loved storms. Someday I'll make you take me for a walk in one. I've not done that since I was a little girl."

Tom watched her quietly, not the least surprised by her confession. "You're a bit like a storm yourself sometimes, I think. Feisty and unpredictable," he said as he reached for her coat.

"You hope," she said, turning to give him a quick kiss.

Tom laughed softly. "I don't know. I was rather afraid of them when I was little. Used to wake my mam up crying over them, or so she says."

Sybil smiled at this, trying to picture Tom as a little boy. _I wonder if any of our children will look like him,_ she wondered idly.

"Were you scared of anything, when you were little?"

Sybil smiled and gave Tom a slightly skeptical look. "Well, not thunderstorms, obviously."

"The dark? That was Kieran, apparently, though I wasn't around yet then," he said, nodding to dark sky outside of his small window.

"Maybe my sisters?" she teased, lifting a finger to her mouth to strike a thoughtful pose.

"Or monsters – unless they were the same thing…." He retorted.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "We'll talk about that later." Determined to not let the conversation go there quite yet, though, she stopped for a moment, thought, and then smiled cheekily. "The servants?"

Tom wrinkled his face in disgust.

"You do have to admit that Mr. Carson can be scary."

Tom rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

"What's he like, in the servants hall?"

Tom frowned slightly. "You must have seen him, when you were having your cooking lessons?"

"The sanctioned ones, you mean? He avoided me completely. Unlike you." She smirked.

Tom grinned, thinking of the twenty or so cups of tea he'd managed to drink that day as he trailed in and out of the kitchen.

"He's not too bad, most of the time. Just doesn't like anyone stepping on his authority. Miss O'Brien, on the other hand…."

"Ratting on your fellow Irishmen?" Sybil teased. "I thought you were supposed to band together.

Tom rolled his eyes. "She's from Belfast."

"Ah." Sybil didn't know much about Ireland, but she knew that the northern part of it was a bit more – well – British.

"I think we're all really afraid of her hair – those two little curls." Tom brought his hands up to his forehead then and wiggled two fingers at the corners of his temple, causing Sybil to burst out laughing.

"And those awful sideburns. I've never understood why any woman would do that intentionally."

"That might be your problem – considering her a proper woman. I don't know that we have confirmation on that," Tom laughed.

Sybil giggled. "I don't know. Edith used to cry at night, when we were little girls, when she had her own room, for the first time. She hated it. She'd always been in the nursery with someone, either Mary or I."

The product of a large family, Tom had to think about this for a moment.

"And before you launch into a speech about the repressive classes, with their giant houses and many bedrooms, let me remind you that I don't think we've ever really been alone at Downton either," Sybil scolded softly. "I know there's a sharp line there, but honestly, Tom, I can probably count on one hand the times I've been in that house alone, with no one else there. No family, no servants."

Tom looked thoughtful at her remark.

She continued. "I'm sure it all looks rather lonely, on the outside. But honestly, Tom, I've never had much privacy. There's always been someone there to do – well, nearly everything for me. Feed me, tidy my things, clothe me, bathe me," she blushed here, her eyes flickering down to the table and then up to his again to meet his gaze, which left little to the imagination as to his thoughts.

"Remind me again why I applied again to be the chauffeur and not –"

"My maid? Yes, I'm sure Mrs. Hughes would have given you careful consideration if the post had opened," she teased. "It'll be rather odd, though, when we're in Dublin. And not just the bit about making food and cleaning the flat. I mean…" Sybil's blush darkened.

"What? You can't start something and not finish like that…" Tom teased, his eyes narrowing slightly in anticipation.

Sybil squirmed in her seat slightly. "I don't even – Before I started nursing, I never even got myself up in the morning. Anna'd come in and wake me and – "

A thought of Sybil in her nightclothes – or not - fresh from a night's sleep, clouded Tom's mind. "Well, I'm sure that I'll be happy to take over that responsibility when we're married," Tom said, a rakish smile broadening on his face.

"Tom!" Sybil scolded, her eyes leaving his eyes for the safety of the window.

"And I'm sure I could help with the bathing too – "

She was bright red now, laughing, her hand flailing in front of her face.

Tom walked over to her then and kissed her soundly on the cheek, his head reaching down for a feel, her backside receiving a squeeze.

This caused her to jump. "Tom!"

Tom laughed and put his hands up. "What! I've done that before!"

She tried to grimace, but was actually more shocked and not a little amused. "Not here."

"Oh, so I see how it is. It's fine to do it in your mother's drawing room, when you're crawling all over my lap, but not in my cottage..."

Sybil giggled a bit nervously. "I don't know. Maybe I should really be afraid of you….."

Tom winked devilishly.

Furrowing her forehead, Sybil continued. "You did ask where I sleep…"

At this Tom raised his eyebrows suggestively and crossed his arms across his chest. "Maybe you should be scared of me."

Sybil grinned. "Maybe I should warn Carson that there's an Irish Don Juan at Downton, stalking the ladies, making devious plans….

This brought Tom back to her then, his arms sliding around her waist. "You have no idea…." He growled, swooping in for a kiss.

"Mmmm," Sybil said, a few minutes later. "Wow. I should call you Don Juan more often!"

Assuming this to be an invitation, Tom kissed her again deeply.

Eventually she pulled back slightly, her hands drifting down his chest, playing with his waistcoat buttons. A thought passed through her mind then that brought a smile to her lips. Tom watched her, quiet for a moment, wondering what it might be.

"You rather have taught me a lot," she said, her voice soft.

Tom nodded.

"Do you remember that day in the garage, when we were talking, and you promised me lessons? In the forbidden pleasures I'd been denied?"

Tom felt his throat tighten a little at the memory. _How long ago was that? We hadn't even kissed yet…_

One of her hands pushed on his chest then, her palm warm against the green wool.

"You've been a good teacher," she said, biting her bottom lip as soon as the words finished coming out of her mouth.

Tom groaned softly and pulled her back against him then, so their lower bodies were aligned. In another moment his mouth was on her own, pulling her bottom lip to bite it gently.

A sound that Tom couldn't quite describe came from Sybil's throat then. They kissed again, languid, lazy, her mouth pressing hard against his. "Very good," she whispered finally.

And then she smiled again, and cast her eyes down, to where their bodies were still flush. "I look forward to more lessons."

Tom's eyes closed then, and his hands slid over her hips.

_You have no idea. _

_No fucking idea._

_The things I want to do to you…._

_The things I _will_ do to you._

He felt her push up against him then, and felt the muscles of her legs tighten against his, through her skirts and his trousers.

_Then again maybe you do have some idea…_

"You make me want to do all of the things that your father would kill me for," he growled.

Sybil giggled against his neck, just the hint of nerves in her laugh.

Tom groaned loudly then and kissed her, stepping back.

_As much for me as for her, I think._

He turned his back to her then, and walked a few spaces to put some space between them. "Does – " he started.

Sybil looked up, her tongue trailing along her lips, as though she was still tasting him there.

"Does?" he began again, a hand rising in the air, and then falling to slap on his leg. He turned then, half ashamed of what he wanted to ask her, having no idea at how she'd react.

_God, the things she probably doesn't know. How sheltered is she? Does she even know, when her body does that, against mine, what exactly happens…_

His own face was a little red now, his back half to hers as he turned to the window and looked outside, watching it rain.

"Tom?" she asked, her voice low. "What were you –"

He shook his head at his own reflection in the window. _Practically thirty years old, and yet I'm standing here, in a cottage her father owns, wearing clothes her father owns, completely unable to ask her what she knows about…_

He breathed in and turned around, one hand reaching up to his neck to rub at the hair on the back of it.

"Does that scare you?" he asked. "Being married to – me?"

Sybil's face wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"

She took a step forward.

"No. Stay there. I can't – just stay there," Tom said quickly, his voice a touch shaky. _Best to have this conversation across the room from one another, I think._

He glanced involuntarily then to the door into his small bedroom. _Closed. Good. God knows I seem to need all of the restraint in the world tonight._

"Why would I have said yes to you if you scared me?" Sybil prodded, her confusion obvious from the tone of her voice.

Tom nearly brought his hand around then and palmed his face. "Love – that's not." He drew a ragged breath. _You should have never brought this up._

He paused then, and almost laughed at the words he'd just thought.

_Well, too late for that I suppose. Literally. But never mind that._

Blue eyes blinked. "I mean, does it scare you to think of being _married_ to me. _Married._ As in – " he gestured vaguely.

Sybil blushed bright red and laughed awkwardly. "The biblical sense."

This time it was Tom's turn to look confused. "Heh?"

"In the biblical sense. That's what one of the nurses at the hospital used to say."

Tom laughed then, a little louder than normal. "Wow. Ok. Interesting…."

Sybil raised a hand to her mouth, her fingers pressing against her lips.

The gesture caught Tom's attention then. _She's done that before once, I remember. When we were out at the lake, I think._

It took him a moment to get out of his own head then, and back to her. He blinked, his focus returning.

She still hadn't said anything, but there was a bit of a grin in her blue-gray eyes.

_Right. Dumb question. Now it's going to be awkward and she's going to leave and never come out here again._

"No?" she squeaked then, suddenly, from the opposite side of the room.

Tom's eyes shot up, suddenly quite wide. "No?"

Sybil giggled nervously from behind the safety of her hand. "Yes? A little? Maybe?"

Tom exhaled then, and nearly laughed.

"Right. Ok. That's –"

"I'm not scared of you. I just don't –" She stopped, clearly embarrassed.

Tom was red by now too. When he opened his mouth to say something, though, she cut him off.

"I mean, I know how – I just –"

"You do know how, beca - " He couldn't believe he'd said the words the moment they flew from his mouth.

_Nice Tom. Smooth. And when she'd said she didn't, what were you going to do? Pull out a sketchbook and give her an anatomy lesson?_

_She doesn't live in a box._

_Granted, she is a lady, but -_

_And a nurse. Of course. You stupid git._

"Actually, it was –" she started.

_Or maybe her mother. Oh God – Lady Grantham – I'm glad I didn't think of that when we were dancing…._

"It was in -"

Tom looked confused.

"Susan."

_Ah._

_Wait. Susan in Liverpool, or Susan at York?_

_Hm._

_That was a long time ago._

_But you did ask her to marry you. Which would imply…_

_Or it could have been in Liverpool._

_But I like the idea of York better._

Sybil stood perfectly still, her hand still at her mouth, watching Tom.

_And what to say next, now. You really need to plan these things better, you sod._

"So yes. But no."

Tom nodded dumbly, as if what she was saying made perfect sense.

"You?"

_Oh God. Mother of God._

Her eyebrow was arched, and her face suddenly back to its normal shade. Her expression meant business.

_Yes. _

Tom sighed. For a moment he was back on the streets of Dublin, grabbing the shoulders of his fifteen year old self, shaking him. Hard.

And then his seventeen year old self.

And eighteen.

And twenty-one.

He sighed.

_Do I have to tell you? Because if you're going to look disappointed, or hurt, I'm going to –_

_No, actually that's a lie. I have no idea what I'm going to do._

He swallowed.

_Lie? _

_Not a good choice._

_Apologize? Because I knew, when I was fifteen, that I was going to fall in love with an English aristocrat who might wish that – _

In the end, he said nothing. Just stood, a bit shamefaced, in front of her, his hands in his pockets, his eyes open and honest.

She nodded once. "Right."

_How is it that she can talk right now and I can't?_

"No one…." she trailed off, turning involuntarily towards the house.

"Oh, God no!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"Good. Because I would really hate to have to see her and –"

"They were all in Ireland."

"They."

"Years ago."

"They."

"Almost ten years, in fact. No one since –"

She said nothing.

It took him a moment, but he understood. His eyes closed and he nodded slightly. "They."

"Sweethearts?"

"Yes. _All."_ Two words, heavy, very firm.

"All?" Eyebrows raised, a slight look of panic.

_A word that can mean two things,_ he thought. _Oh, what the hell. She's already giving up everything for you. The least you can do is tell her –_

"Four. All different, all sweethearts. A long time ago."

"How long?"

Tom had not expected this level of detail.

"I was twenty-one. Last time."

"In Ireland." She said it quickly.

"In Ireland."

She turned then, so she wasn't looking at him anymore.

"Did you love any of them?" she whispered.

Tom's eyes closed, his hands shuffling into his pocket. _Is there a good answer to this question?_

He breathed out. _Honesty, Tom. If there's one thing you can give her, it's honesty._

"No, I didn't. And I don't know if that makes it better or worse."

Sybil breathed out then, her rib cage falling visibly through her blouse. "Right."

"It was – I was young. And stupid."

Sybil nodded. "I know," she replied. Her hand was at her mouth again.

Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"I've not. But you know that, I'm sure."

Tom nodded, forgetting that she couldn't see him at the moment.

She turned back then, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Some girls – like me – do, you know. With their…"

_Servants. I know._

"I've not."

Tom nodded again, this time within range of Sybil's sight.

"Though I will admit that in the case of one man who works here at Downton, I have given it a _great deal_ of thought."

Tom's mouth dropped open.

She smiled at him and winked

"Holy God," Tom whispered.

Sybil turned and grinned then, her eyes a combination of embarrassment and lust. "I think I've shocked you, Mr. Branson," she teased.

"You can shock me like that anytime you want," he replied.

* * *

_Next up – A conversation with Edith._


	24. Sisterly Confidence

_This chapter is a departure from how I've written this fic so far, as Tom isn't physically present during the scene. I think he was very much present, though, with both of the sisters, as they shared this conversation. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it._

* * *

"Would you have time for a walk with me, later?" Sybil asked, turning to Edith and speaking softly as the two girls stood at the buffet in the Crawley's elegant dining room, each sister choosing eggs and rashers of bacon for their breakfast.

Edith turned a slightly confused, if pleased, face to Sybil. "Of course! Did you want to go into the village? I could drive, if you need something and Branson's not available."

Sybil shook her head. "No. I don't really need anything, but I would like to speak with you, about something. And it's so pleasant today, with the sun finally shining and all," Sybil said, her eyes darting to where Mr. Carson stood nearby, obviously listening. "I thought it might be nice to get out of the house a bit and stroll the grounds."

_And to get as far away from the house as possible, before I tell you my news,_ Sybil added to herself.

Edith nodded happily. "Of course! After breakfast?"

Sybil reached down to pick up a muffin, only to realize that her hand was trembling slightly. She snatched it quickly, hoping she could calm herself before she was required to pick up any of the heavy silver they used for their morning meal.

_When would I like to go? _

_Hm. _

_Tomorrow. _

_Tonight. _

_This afternoon. _

_But that's not what you mean._

Sybil breathed deeply, trying to get her hands, and her thoughts, under control.

_You can do this. You will have to do far worse, soon. Edith will be sympathetic. Edith will fight your corner, when the time comes._

She hoped she was right.

Because if not –

Well, then she really might be leaving Downton this afternoon.

She and Tom had talked about it once more since the ball, during a motor trip to Ripon. They'd agreed that it might be best to approach individual family members who could be potential allies first, with the idea that when the big announcement, they would already have a few people in their corner, ready to show support.

_Or at least not join in the yelling, _Sybil thought darkly.

"After breakfast?" Edith asked, bringing Sybil back to the present moment.

"How about after luncheon? That should be the warmest part of the day, and I have some letters to write this morning," Sybil explained, thinking of the note she was hoping to post to Susan.

"Of course. That sounds lovely," Edith responded, her tone warm and a bit excited, perhaps, as she turned to smile at her sister.

_And that will hopefully give you enough time to recover before tea, or at least dinner, _Sybil thought, the butterflies in her stomach continuing to flitter about as she turned to walk towards the table where her father, wearing a rather petulant expression, was already seated.

* * *

"Now, where shall we go?" Edith said, as the two sisters walked out of Downton later that afternoon, the sun shining brightly in the sky above them.

Sybil turned her head up instinctively towards it. _Warmth. It does feel so good. I wish I could - When we're in Dublin, I think I shall forget my hat on sunny days, every now and then, and allow myself the joy of the sun on my face._

Sybil opened her eyes then, and turned to smile at her sister. "I fancy a rather long walk, if you're amenable. How about we go over to those trees, right there," she pointed to a far off stand, "and then we'll take the path from there out to the ridge, if we like."

"Sure," Edith agreed.

The two stepped out onto the lawn together, then, not bothering to worry about the grass under their feet. The ground was just slightly spongy, thanks to the recent early January thaw.

_And that's another thing,_ Sybil thought, looking down at the brown grass underneath her feet. _Somewhere in Dublin I'm going to find a park that is lush and green in the summertime, and I'm going to go and take off my shoes and stockings there and walk through it, with bare feet._ The thought made her smile. _I've always wanted to do that, since I was a child._

The smile on her face broadened when she thought of Tom there next to her, his white feet in the green grass too. _What fun we'll have, when we are on our own, with no one there to watch us and reprimand us._

Edith caught the smile on her sister's face and assumed a somewhat perplexed look. "You look rather happy."

Sybil breathed in deep. _Have faith in her. Trust her. Tell her._

"I am rather happy," she said softly, picking up her pace just a bit in the effort to put more space between them and the Abbey.

"I thought it would be harder for you, the end of the war and your nursing."

_And hard for you too, not having anything to do again, _Sybil thought.

"I will miss it. I do already, in some ways. It was so nice to be useful, and have a real purpose every day."

"I understand," Edith agreed. "I've felt more useful in the last year than I have in my entire life, I think," she said a bit sadly.

"Yes."

"Though I suppose it should be a relief, of course. Knowing that the war is over, and that there won't be any more soldiers being sent off to die anymore."

Sybil's mind instantly turned to Dublin then, and the trouble that was brewing there. _No, I don't think we're done yet. But that will be a different fight._ _One that may very well affect me even more, in fact,_ Sybil thought darkly.

"Still, though," Edith continued. "I suppose we'll have to find new things to do, now. New ways to occupy our time." Edith paused and shook her head. "Sometimes I wish I could just begin again, and start over with a new life."

This brought Sybil's feet to a halt, even before she quite realized what she was doing. She turned towards Edith then, her hands coming up to worry themselves together before her.

"That's – that's what I wanted to talk to you about, today. I have found ….a…a new life." Sybil's voice trembled slightly.

Edith's brown eyes widened as she tried to read her sister's expression. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked, her voice a little breathless with anticipation.

"I…..I'm leaving Downton soon."

Edith was clearly shocked. "Leaving? What's happened? Is something….wrong?"

"No," Sybil smiled then. "No, nothing's wrong." She turned just enough then to see the house out of the corner of her eye. "I'm quite happy, in fact. Though I dare say it will be rather a shock to everyone else, when we tell them."

"We." The word dropped from Edith's mouth like a brick.

"Yes," Sybil confirmed quickly, her words rushing out as with the speed of a steam locomotive. "I – I'm engaged. And we'll be leaving soon, for Dublin."

"Dublin?" Edith asked incredulously. "Who are you marrying that you'd need to move to Dublin? Was he – Is he a soldier? Someone who was here, during the war, and is being reposted to Dublin? Because I'm sure that Papa might be able to get his orders changed, so you could be somewhere safer. They say that Dublin is getting worse every day…."

Sybil shook her head. "No, he's not English. And I didn't meet him during the war. We've known each other much longer than that, actually."

Edith was still starring at her, her mouth slightly open. "Is he – there are families we know, in Dublin. Is he a member of one of them?"

Sybil shook her head. "No. And before you ask, he's not a duke or a lord."

Edith's mouth continued to gape. Just then, though, a cold gust of wind rushed past them, causing the sisters to turn their backs to it, so they were facing the house and its surrounding outbuildings again.

Sybil watched Edith closely, following her sister's gaze, as it idly landed on the garage. A long silence followed.

And then, suddenly, Edith spoke. "You're," Edith whispered hesitantly, as if she was waiting for her sister to correct her. "You're," she started again, turning slowly to face Sybil again. "You're in love with Branson."

Sybil could see the puzzle pieces sliding together in Edith's mind.

_Click. _

_Click. _

_Click._

Sybil nodded. "Tom."

"Tom Branson. Good God," Edith added, seeming to mutter to herself.

"Tom Branson."

"From Dublin."

"From Dublin. And soon to be of Dublin again."

"But currently of Downton Abbey."

Sybil nodded, a lump in her throat.

"You're going to marry Br – Tom. You're going to Dublin with him, then." Edith stood stock still, as if the wind had frozen her to stone.

"I am." Sybil hoped she sounded proud, though she was in truth a bit nervous. _Please God, let her understand. Please God, let this not be a mistake. Please God, let her keep it to herself._

"You're engaged to – no, you're _marrying_, Papa's chauffeur."

Sybil could feel her jaw tighten. _For all that you go on about hating Mary, you can sound just like her sometimes._ Yet she said nothing, knowing that such a comment would only add fuel to the fire.

"The man who taught you to drive," Sybil reminded Edith. "The man who was very kind to you about it."

A smile began to form on Edith's lips then. Tucking her hands into her pockets, she gave a little laugh. "No he wasn't. He teased me mercilessly about the fact that I couldn't seem to clutch properly for the longest time."

Sybil watched Edith carefully, trying to reconcile Edith's words with her expression, which seemed to be lightening. Was Edith teasing her?

She decided to try again.

"The same man who you danced with, several times, at the ball last week."

Edith's eyes began to warm then slightly as she turned to look at the garage again. "And you did too," she said, her smile growing a bit more. "You actually spent quite a bit of time with him that evening, if I remember right. I didn't think much of it at the time….except…"

"Except what?" Sybil asked a bit nervously, wondering what they might have unknowlingly revealed.

"Except that I remember seeing the two of you talking, towards the end of the ball, and I remember thinking how well the two of you seemed to get on." She gave a small laugh then. "Who would have thought?"

_How well the two of you seem to get on._ She thought of her last visit to Tom's cottage then, and the intensity with which they had kissed and touched. _That's an understatement if I've ever heard one,_ she thought.

Sybil took a slight step forward then, forcing her mind off Tom's ….firmness…. and back to the present. "Do you approve?"

Edith gave Sybil a slightly startled look and began to walk again. "What does it matter if I do?" she asked. "You've obviously made up your minds."

"We have," Sybil acknowledged, moving to catch up with her sister.

"Does anyone else know? Surely Papa doesn't…."

"No!" Sybil said, her voice quite sharp. "We've not told anyone yet. Well – I take that back. Cousin Isobel does know, but that's mostly because she rather figured it out. It's a long story," Sybil said, waving her hand absently, as if to make it all go away. "And Mary and I had a fight about Tom ages ago, and she knows that he proposed to me, but not that I've accepted. And I'd just as soon have her stay ignorant of that fact for as long as possible," Sybil said, flashing her sister a slightly dark look.

"We've not – that is –" she sputtered slightly, as the two girls continued to walk quite quickly. "We will tell everyone else, when Tom has a new job, and we're ready to go. Because you know as well as I do that when Papa finds out, he'll likely kick Tom off of Downton. And I'll not stay when he does. _I will go with him," _she said rather vehemently, as if rehearsing for the confrontation that she knew was still to come.

"You've done a great deal of planning, haven't you?" Edith asked softly.

"We have. And I know that it's what I want. I….I want Tom. That's it. Pure and simple. I love him, and I want to marry him. And I will do whatever it takes, for the rest of my life, to be with him."

Edith looked at her then with a deep longing in her eyes.

_I wish she could find someone who makes her feel like that. Like Tom makes me feel, as though I'm the center of his entire universe._

Unable to do such a thing, though, Sybil simply did, in that moment, what she could. Stopping, she reached out for Edith and took her hand. "And I wanted to tell you. First. Because you're my sister."

Edith reached out for Sybil's other hand, holding them silently, her expression grateful, both sisters' eyes beginning to mist.

_I will miss her. I hope she'll come for the wedding, and to visit._

Edith didn't speak for a moment. When she did, her words were clouded with heavy emotion. "Thank you. Thank you – for – for trusting me."

Sybil nodded and then dropped her hands, only to pull Edith into an embrace.

Edith seemed frozen for a moment, but this sudden outpouring of sisterly affection. Neither one, if pressed, could probably remember the last time they had embraced. Even as children, such affection normally came only from Cora, ever the American.

_I suppose I'm becoming rather middle class,_ Sybil thought, smiling as she held her sister in her arms. _It's the sort of thing that Isobel does._

When the two stepped back, finally, there were tears in Sybil's eyes. "He's made me terribly happy. And I know that we will be – terribly happy," she gushed, beginning to ramble as a sudden flood of happiness overcame her, at the acceptance her sister was offering to Tom.

"He is a very kind man," Edith said. "He's always been kind to me, at least. Teaching me to drive. I'd have never thought, though, that he was romancing my baby sister the entire time!"

Sybil laughed. "He has been. For quite awhile, actually."

Edith's eyebrows raised at this. "How long has this been going on?"

Sybil flushed. "Truthfully? Well, he asked me to marry him when I left to train at York."

"Really!" Edith exclaimed, clearly shocked. "That long ago! Did you expect it? I mean, had he given you any indication before?"

_Every day, in every way, now that I look back on it._ Sybil smiled, remembering.

_I don't suppose…._

"Do you remember the garden party? The day the war began?" Sybil asked.

Edith frowned slightly. "Yes."

"He held my hand that day. Quite suddenly, I thought at the time. But looking back, I'm not so sure it was."

"I'm surprised someone didn't see, with all of those people milling about" Edith responded.

"Mrs. Hughes did, actually. She sent me off, and scolded Tom for it."

"Lucky it wasn't Mr. Carson. He would have sacked Branson on the spot," Edith retorted, calling Tom again by the name she knew him.

_And when he finds out he'll probably wish he did,_ Sybil thought.

"That was the first time I had any indication, really. Though I had considered him my friend for a long time, already."

"And for Br - Tom?" Edith rushed on, trying to think only of Sybil and Branson in the context of the garden party, and no one else.

Sybil shook her head. "No. He – we were friends, as I said. And that's how I thought of him….as a friend. But when he realized he loved me….it was the incident at the Count, when I was injured."

"Good Lord!" Edith gasped quietly. "That was years ago! Long before the war."

Sybil nodded. "I know. He's been – he's been extraordinarily patient with me, over the years. He's always insisted that I returned his….affections ….but that I wasn't ready to face them yet. And in many ways, I think he was right. The fact that I couldn't bear for him to leave, after York….I cried over him so many times there, without really understanding why."

"And you're going to marry him," Edith whispered, a bit trancelike.

"I am." The words were sweet on Sybil's tongue. _I am. I will. And I can tell my sister about it._

"I must admit that I don't quite know what to say," Edith confessed, after a moment more of silence.

"Say that you'll support us, and that you'll write to me, when we leave. That you'll not shun us, after we announce our plan to the family."

"Of course I'll support you! Why wouldn't I?"

Sybil felt a tiny warmth begin to spread in her insides. "Because I'm marrying the chauffeur."

Completely to Sybil's surprise, Edith rolled her eyes. "Bosh. Br – Tom will do something more with himself."

_Is this really happening? _ Sybil thought. _Is she really and truly being this nice about all of this?_

"He will. He's trying for a job with a newspaper."

"In Dublin?"

Sybil nodded. "Yes. In Dublin."

Edith gave her sister a quizzical look. "Does that frighten you, living there?"

Sybil shrugged her shoulders slightly. _More lower class gestures. _"I know it's becoming more dangerous, but I'll not tell Tom no. He's waited here for me for years, living in a country that is foreign to him. I'll not force him to stay. It will be hard, I'm sure, but Tom wants to be a part of what is happening, a new country being born. And I'll not keep him from it."

"So you'll go, just like that," Edith muttered.

Sybil smiled a tiny uncertain smile. "Just like that."

She paused then, watching Edith, as if wishing she could read her sister's mind. Finally Sybil spoke again, voicing a question to which she was not sure she wanted an answer.

"Do you think we're daft?"

Edith smiled rather sadly in response, hesitating before she spoke. Turning slightly, so she was facing the horizon, her body at a right angle to Sybil's, she opened her mouth twice before any words came from it.

"Would I marry Tom, if he was in love with me? Probably not. I don't know that I'm brave enough to face everything that may be dealt your way, before it all settles down. And even worse, I don't know if it would ever even occur to me that I could fall in love with someone – who worked here. Standing here with you, though, I will admit that you make me ashamed to say that." Edith's right foot rose then, at the toe, her heel still on the ground, spinning her foot back and forth, a nervous gesture that she generally tried to hide. "But do I think you should marry him, if you love him?" A wistful look passed over her eyes.

"I…." she began, looking far off into the distance. "I – I've never had the opportunity to marry the man that I loved. I've loved. Twice in fact, I think. But I've never had the chance to….to make a life with…with either of them. And Mary –" Edith shook her head here darkly. "And Mary had her chance, and lost it so….dramatically, and is paying for it, and will, I think, in spades, for the rest of her life." She turned to face Sybil then, her expression softening again. "But you have that chance, Sybil. You – " she laughed suddenly. "You'll be like Mama, moving off to a foreign land to marry the man you love."

Sybil nearly laughed then too, thinking about how ridiculous the comparison would seem, to most people. "True. Although Grandmama was certainly pushing Mama, and she did marry the heir to an Earldom…"

Edith shook her head again. "But it didn't matter. It doesn't, for you, or you wouldn't be doing it. If he's the one that makes you happy…."

Sybil nodded, the lump in her throat returning. "Yes. Yes, he does."

"And you must know, going in, what it will mean…."

"I do. Or at least, I think I do."

"Then go. Marry the man you love. And be happy, for all of us."

It was odd, to think of her impending marriage and all of the society scandal that it would cause, as some sort of balm for their family, and the three sisters who had suffered so many losses in love.

"That's one of the privileges of being the younger daughters, I suppose. We – you, at least – can marry for love."

Sybil nearly raised an eyebrow at this. "Even if it means marrying the staff?"

"Even if it means marrying a good man."

Edith turned then, to face the garage again. "Now, I know that you asked for a long walk, and I'm happy to oblige. But I wonder if we might not stop by the garage on our way back home, so I can congratulate my future brother on his upcoming nuptials."

Sybil reached out then and linked her arm though Edith's. "That would be lovely. But first, I have several years of stories that I've been wanting desperately to share. Shall we?"

* * *

_Up next? I'm debating. Something nice, I think. There's lots more to come, though. Moments with Isobel, Mary finds out, some more naughtiness….and perhaps a few more reveals as well. And I think we'll hear from Susan again, at some point._

_Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Please review!_


	25. Pair Skating

_Apparently I've had too much plot writing for a bit, as this chapter is pure, simple, fluff. It takes us back out to the watery bits of Downton now, which have conveniently frozen over since that nice pleasant walk with Edith. We'll get back to her soon – and see that conversation between her and Tom in the garage eventually, I promise. First, though, I have a long overdue promise to Shana Rose for some cuddles and hot chocolate. _

* * *

"What?" Sybil looked up into impossibly blue eyes.

"You have a snowflake on the end of your nose." Tom said, nearly crossing his eyes as he peered at it.

Sybil giggled. "I probably have a lot of them, at the rate it's snowing."

Tom leaned forward then and kissed it, his lips just a little rough on the cherry tip.

"Is that what you intend to do with all of the snowflakes I'm acquiring?" Sybil teased, her already slightly red cheeks turning slightly darker at her flirtatious comment.

Tom's eyes trailed down her body from her nose. "I'd be happy to oblige if you're quite serious…." he said, leaning in.

He wasn't fast enough, however, as Sybil suddenly skated backwards and out of his grasping reach.

"Hey!" Tom called out, his voice echoing across the open expanse of the frozen lake. Looking down quickly at his feet, as if willing them to remember what to do on these thin silver blades, he wondered briefly is there was a patron saint of ice skating –_or at least of not falling on my ass! – _before he put one foot out to glide tentatively forward, after the quickly disappearing form of his lovely fiancé.

* * *

They'd hatched their plan to come out and skate on the lake a couple of days before, as the weather had turned quite cold again several days back, a heavy freeze coating Downton first with a frost, and then several inches of snow. This sort of weather was typical that winter for northern England. Mother nature had been quite changeable of late, bringing them sunshine and hints of spring one week, and then buckets of snow the next.

Sybil had suggested it as an outing during one of her early morning visits to the garage. She and Tom had taken to meeting once a week or so for an early breakfast of something hot, baked fresh in the kitchen that morning by Daisy and Sybil. Her mornings in the kitchen were more regular now, as she was no longer nursing, and had nowhere else to be at such a time. She'd been afraid that the whole thing had suddenly come to an end when Mrs. Patmore came down early one morning to find her and Daisy together, their heads bowed together over a bowl of dough that had not risen properly. After a quick explanation during which Sybil did the talking, careful to not use the words Tom, marriage, or Ireland, the housekeeper relented. "Don't suppose as it really matters to me. If you want to do more cooking and baking, then I say more power to you."

"Do you know how to skate?" she'd asked Tom one morning in the garage, reaching out to hand him a warm roll.

Tom's eyebrow rose as he watched her handle the food, so casually, with her bare hands. _A few months ago…._

"I do. Or at least I did, years ago."

"Did you skate in the city?" Sybil asked, as little surprised at her answer.

Tom shook his head, his mouth now full of yeasty bun. "No," he said, after taking a drink of the hot chocolate that Sybil had brought out. "But when I was young, my grandfather had a farm, outside of Dublin. Or I should say, he was a farmer – the land wasn't actually his, of course," Tom said, rolling his eyes slightly. "God forbid an Irish Catholic be allowed to own land…" he muttered.

Sybil rolled her eyes good-naturedly, a smile hovering on her lips as she reached for her own chocolate. "So you skated there?"

Tom nodded. "We did – or at least I did. Kieran taught me – or I should say that we figured it out together. The family that owned the land had children, just a few years older than me. They used to give Mam some of their cast-offs, sometimes, when we'd go to visit Granddad, since he was on the farm closest to the house. One time when we were playing in the barn Kieran found some skates there, and we 'borrowed' them when we visited that winter."

"So there was water at the farm? Then why didn't you know how to swim?"

"Why _don't_ I know how to swim then?" Tom corrected, a cheeky sparkle in his eye.

"You know how to swim! I taught you!" Sybil protested.

"You _tried, _love. All I managed to do was stay afloat long enough to spend the afternoon with you, in that lovely bathing garment that your grandmother sent you."

Sybil flushed slightly at the memory. "I'm half surprised that you didn't try to drown, just so I would have had to resuscitate you."

"Resuscitate me? What do you mean?" Tom said, feeling suddenly as though he might have been cheated out of something quite pleasant by his lack of medical knowledge.

"You know…." Sybil started, wondering what she'd gotten herself into. She popped another bite on bun into her mouth.

"No I don't. And as you do, I think you need to tell me, or I'll…." Tom sat down his cup then, and began to move in Sybil's direction, his fingers wiggling, imitating the tickles he meant to give her.

"No! Stop!" She protested feebly, chewing and swallowing quickly, nearly choking in the process.

Tom's hands were an inch from her then.

Quick as she could, Sybil reached down to grab them and hold them in her own. As Tom was much stronger than Sybil, though, he managed to wiggle out of her grip quickly.

"Stop! Stop!" Sybil said, laughing, as Tom tickled her. "I'll tell you! I promise!"

"Well?" He said, not stepping back a bit, Sybil tucked quite nicely between him and his work bench.

Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked quite pleased at her position. Reaching to take his hands, she laced their fingers together.

"It's – when someone swallows too much water, and they need help, you're supposed to lie them down on the ground and press on their chest –"

A grin started to work its way across Tom's lips. "Such as?"

"Like this," Sybil said, loosening her hands and bringing them up to press on Tom's chest. "It forces the water out. But – " she began, deciding to use this to her advantage. "But if anyone's unconscious – not responding – and if they can't breathe, then there's a technique you can use where you put your mouth over the person's and breathe into it, filling their lungs with air…."

"Ah. Now that sounds more like it…." Tom said, his voice dropping as his hands snaked around her waist, pulling her in.

In another moment they were breathing the same air, mouths pressed firmly against one another.

Not a short time later, Sybil leaned back slightly, reluctantly breaking the kiss. "I should probably go. Pratt will be in soon, and…."

Tom nodded, but did nothing to move. "Thursday afternoon, then."

"Thursday afternoon. Your half day off."

Tom nodded. _God. How much longer until it'll be every day? How much longer until it won't be morning kisses snuck in the garage, but morning kiss in bed. _He groaned.

"What?" Sybil said, her hands still at Tom's sides, holding him, admiring the man before her.

Tom shook his head. "Just…."

"I know," Sybil responded quietly. "I know. And I feel the same. Trust me."

_Please God that you do,_ he thought, kissing her again quickly, and then forcing himself to step back. He watched as she gathered their cups and headed back towards the house, the sky still dark outside.

* * *

Tom watched as Sybil skated towards the center of the pond, executing a figure eight playfully as she slowed. Tom couldn't help but admire the way she seemed to slip so lightly, so easily along the ice, while he felt as though he might break an ankle with each turn.

He breathed in deep. As much as he would readily admit that he wasn't exactly proficient on skates, he was glad that they'd chosen to come out here, this Thursday afternoon. He wondered idly if anyone would put together the fact that the youngest daughter of the house had disappeared out for a long afternoon "walk" on the same afternoon that his Lordship's chauffeur had his afternoon off.

_Someone will figure it out someday, I dare say. Though God knows that I really don't care, at this point, if they do._

It was funny, really, how much Sybil's revelation of her love for him had done to boost Tom's confidence. Not that he wasn't naturally that sort, anyway. _God knows Mam told me a million times as a child. 'Pride comes before the fall, Tommy. Best not to be too proud.'_ The problem, though, was that he was just so damn proud of her – of everything about her. Her courage. Her love. Her steadfastness.

_She seems to think I can do anything,_ Tom thought, beginning to wobble towards Sybil again. _Whether it's something silly, like swimming or skating, or much more serious things…..like supporting her. She acts like she has no doubts in me whatsoever._

The thought broadened the smile on his face as he skated towards Sybil, who was now slowing.

She grinned as her skates brought her over to him. "May I take your arm, sir?" she said, batting her eyelashes at Tom.

Tom laughed. "Of course, miss," he responded, tipping his head slightly.

Sybil grabbed onto his arm then, subtly steadying Tom while all the while pretending that it was she who needed the help.

"Here," she said, as they began to skate towards the edge of the pond together. "Now turn your foot just slightly, so the blade tips, and lean your body just a bit…"

Tom could feel his body tense slightly with concentration as he tried to follow her instructions. He leaned to the left just a bit, fearful that more would cause him to lose his balance.

Sybil caught the look on his face, and moved to try to help him, her feet still going. She let go of Tom's arm, intending to move her arm behind his back. The movement, though, startled him, and he started to lean heavily.

"Whoa! Careful!" she called out, turning quickly so she was facing Tom. Reaching out both hands to grip Tom's arms at the elbows, she braced him as best she could. She watched as he looked from her down to his feet, and the ice, and then back quickly up again, as if his mind was trying to register all of what was happening. "I've got you. It's alright."

Tom gave her a crooked smile. "I'm sorry."

Sybil shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. It's just been a long time since you've done this."

Tom nodded, feeling a bit stupid.

"And none of that," Sybil said, reading his expression easily. "You don't have to be the best at everything, you know. That's why you have me." She smiled. "We're a pair, the two of us."

"Thank God," Tom said softly, finding her eyes. As if by magic, his feet seemed to still and his body relax into a balance.

"Sometimes you need to lead, and something I do," Sybil continued, keeping her grip on Tom tight. "The most important bit, though, is that we do it together."

_For the rest of our lives, God willing,_Tom thought.

It took him a moment to realize that she was slowly inching him forward, her own feet making tiny slips backwards.

She coaxed him slowly around the ice, working to find the proper combination of teasing conversation and concentration that allowed Tom to relax. Somewhere around their second loop, Sybil skated around to resume her place at Tom's side, wrapping one of her arms around his back, and gripping tightly. He immediately did the same with her.

From a distance they would have seemed to be on unit, sliding across the ice together as the snowflakes dusted lightly down. Her blue coat melted into his brown, creating one dark smudge against the faint winter sun, which was dropping in the sky, the winter afternoon short-lived.

As the afternoon passed Sybil became increasingly playful, and, sensing that Tom could manage on his own much better now, decided to break away suddenly and give him chase again. This time he sped across the pond much more confidently, his slightly longer strides letting him catch up with her. He grabbed for her, and she squealed loudly, their laughter singing out into the cold air as he reached his arms around her waist and pulled her backwards against him.

So pleased was Tom with himself that he didn't realize that Sybil was soon grasping his hand and using it to spin herself out, one of her legs rising slightly behind her to counter balance as she dipped her head down slightly, opening up her frame to glide more gracefully along the ice.

Grinning broadly, she pulled Tom along, watching him slice his skates around a turn with hardly a wobble. Confident he could manage the next turn without her, she called out "Watch!" and suddenly dropped his hand, breaking free to skate out a distance from him, her speed building up. Tucking her arms in to her body, she worked herself into a slow but steady spin. Round and round she went, a cyclone of blue against the white ice.

"That's brilliant!" Tom called out, when she had slowed and dipped a low curtsey, obviously quite pleased with herself. Skating over to her, he reached out for one of her gloved hands and brought it to his lips gallantly. Sybil giggled, and then grasped his other hand in hers, a mischievous sparkle in her blue gray eyes. Using her full strength, she pulled Tom around and into a lazy spin with her.

His eyes flew open at the sudden motion. "Holy Mother!" he cursed.

Sybil's grinned widened and she laughed, trying to increase their speed. "Hold on!" she called.

Tom wasn't entirely sure what was happening, but he feet seemed to be moving, and their bodies were going faster and faster. Suddenly he heard Sybil squeal, and saw her start to tip.

"Ooof!" Tom called out, as he felt his body connect with cold.

"Holy shit!"

Tom looked and realized that they were both lying on the ice now, him flat on his back, Sybil on her side.

Before he could ask if he was hurt, he saw her hand move to her mouth, and heard her start to laugh.

He turned his head to the side, a sandy eyebrow coming up. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry Tom…." She gasped, laughter breaking up her words. "I bring you out here to skate….and then I bloody well kill us both….you're never going to trust me again…."

She looked so adorable there, curling up into a c on the ice, her hair falling out of its pins and her face red from the cold. Her coat was half white from the snow.

But her eyes were dancing.

Tom did a mental check of his own body, tentatively moving his limbs. _I'm going to feel that in the morning, _he thought. _Not even thirty yet, but every time I pull something it…._

_Ah, shite. Who cares? I doubt there's a better feeling in the world than a bit of soreness after having been worked over by the lovely Sybil Crawley, however that might happen._

He inched over closer to her, then, and stretched out his arm. Then, suddenly, he stopped, a wicked grin spreading on his face.

"Eh," he moaned, hoping he was sounding at least somewhat pathetic.

Sybil, still trying to compose herself, was too busy wiggling closer to Tom to hear him.

So, he tried again. "Ehhh." This time it was a little bit higher pitched, with more volume.

In an instant Sybil was sitting up, reaching to lean over him. "Tom? Are you alright? Tom?"

He closed his eyes, willing himself to keep his laughter at bay. "Ehh….I can't – I can barely breathe…." he whispered.

Sybil, suddenly aware of what Tom was doing, brought her hand back to slug him lightly in the stomach.

"Ooof!" he called out, his blue eyes flashing open. He opened them to see white skin, pink cheeks, and a tumble of brown hair right above him.

"I think I need to be resuscitated," he whined softly, grinning.

Sybil's eyes closed in a dramatic moan. "Why do I ever tell you anything?"

"Because you secretly love fixing me," Tom said, reaching for her hands and pulling one up to give it a noisy kiss.

Sybil, who was now leaning her chest onto Tom's, rolled her eyes. "Is it that obvious?" she joked.

"Absolutely," Tom replied, sliding his one hand down the side of her body, and then the other. Suddenly he tugged, and Sybil felt herself being lifted up, and then solidly down, her entire body lying on top of Tom's, perfectly aligned with his.

"Now, Nurse Crawley" he said, his blue eyes darkening. "Make me feel better."

* * *

_Thanks again to all of you who keep reading, and those of you who have recently joined the FP readership. You guys are the best! If anyone has any suggestions, I do take prompts...it just takes me awhile to get around to some of them._

_Coming soon – the beginning of everyone's favorite Bromance!_


	26. Family

_Ok, my apologies on the fact that this has taken me longer than I intended to get up. My computer has eaten parts of this ******* story TWICE now. Seriously. It almost makes one think that there's some sort of evil out there, trying to kill of Downton Abbey's nicest characters. _

_Oh. Wait._

_Anyway…..._

_A few notes._

_For the ease of this fic, Matthew and Lavinia aren't back together yet, and she's not really in the picture at the moment, period._

_Secondly, for the ease of this chapter, I've also decided that Mrs. Bird has a second sister, who is in Liverpool. _

_Third, I'm discovering just how much I love Isobel Crawley. I hope you all are good with that, because she's going to be appearing in the next several chapters._

_And fourth, there's some implied conversation between the part at Isobel's house, and the part in Matthew's room at Downton. I'm sure you're all intelligent enough to pick up on that, but it seems at this very moment I feel like writing a lot of notes._

* * *

"I was so happy that you could come for tea this afternoon," Isobel said, gesturing to Edith and Sybil, who were sitting side by side on her divan.

Something in her voice made Sybil pause. _I think she might be planning something. She was very specific in inviting Edith and I today, after she found out that Mama and Mary were going up to London for some shopping, and to see Aunt Rosamund. I wonder what she has in mind…._

"Of course. We're always happy to visit," Edith responded politely.

"Yes," Sybil added, her eyes searching Isobel's for some sort of clue as to what she might be planning.

"I'm afraid that things might be a bit more informal than normal. Mr. Mosley has his afternoon off today, and Mrs. Bird had to leave unexpectedly to go to Liverpool, as she's had a note that her sister is not doing well."

Both Crawley girls nodded.

"I was wondering, in fact," Isobel said, "If we might do something different. I've decided recently that it might be interesting to taste some new tea blends. I had some sent up for London, from the Twinings Company. I thought it might be fun to try them all, and see what we think," she continued.

"Of course," Edith continued politely.

Isobel took a bit deeper breath than normal. Her eye caught Sybil's then, quite intentionally. "I wonder if we might just take them down in the kitchen, instead of bringing up three pots and sets of cups and everything."

_In the kitchen. With Tom._

_So that's what it is, _Sybil thought. _She is plotting._

A smile curled on Sybil's lips.

Isobel looked at Edith then, and quickly back at Sybil. "Did Mr. Branson say if he was intending to stay?"

Edith began to smirk slightly. "I don't recall. Sybil, do you know if _Tom_ was going back home?"

Sybil flushed and quickly caught Isobel's eye. "I believe he was going to stay. I did see a newspaper in the motor. He often carries one with him so he can read while he waits for us."

Isobel nodded, but only said one word. "Tom."

Sybil smiled at her sister, and then back at Isobel. "Yes. I've told Edith."

Isobel smiled then too, widely, looking from Sybil to Edith. "Ah. Yes. Very good."

"Yes." Edith nodded.

"Shall I go see if he's outside?" Sybil said, suddenly itching to stand.

"Let's check downstairs first. He may have already come in." Isobel turned her sharp eyes to Edith then again. "I don't suppose you would mind if we were to make a party of it, the four of us?"

Edith nearly laughed. "No, that's quite fine."

Sybil grinned in thanks to Edith. _Thank God she won't disown me, at least, _Sybil thought. _She seems to be rather taking to Tom quite well, actually._

Her mind drifted back then to the walk she and Edith had taken, the day she'd told her about Tom.

* * *

"_If we're to stop in the garage, we must do it soon, as Granny's to come for tea today, and Tom will need to go fetch her," Sybil said as she and Edith turned towards the drive._

_Edith nodded, looking a bit nervous suddenly._

"_You're not – you won't back down now," Sybil said, catching her nervous expression._

"_No….I….just…."_

_Sybil had to stop herself from rolling her eyes then, knowing that the gesture would hurt Edith. "You will come. You just said so yourself, an hour ago, that you wanted to congratulate him."_

"_Yes," Edith began haltingly. "I'm just not sure what to say, exactly."_

_Sybil stopped walking then and turned to face her sister. "He is a person, you know." Her voice was gentle, but her tone firm._

_Edith nodded. "I know. I'm just not quite sure what one should say," she repeated. "I've never spoken so casually with Bra – Tom, before."_

_Sybil stared at her. "Yes you have! You danced with him at the servants' ball three times!"_

_This brought a smile to Edith's face. "Three times? My. Someone was counting."_

_Sybil flushed prettily. "Maybe. Yes. I was doing it to be careful. To make sure that I didn't dance too much with Tom, more than anyone else did."_

_Edith laughed. "You should have told me before. I could have helped you plot it all out, then," she teased._

_Sybil laughed quietly. "I'm so glad I've told you."_

_Edith nodded, looking down at her hands. "I do appreciate your trust."_

"_Of course," Sybil said._

"_It's only that…."_

_Sybil waited. _

_Edith flushed slightly and continued to stare at the ground. "I'm not entirely sure what it will be like, now, seeing B – Tom, now. Besides the normal formalities there's….."_

"_Yes?" Sybil said, not at all sure where her sister was going with this._

_Edith looked up at her sister then, her cheeks rosy. "It's just that you've spent the last hour telling me some rather….intimate….things about him, and you, and now I have to go inside and pretend as though I've not spent the last hour trying to picture you kissing him!" she finally confessed._

_This brought a loud laugh from Sybil. _If you think that's intimate…_she thought. Forcing her mind off that, though, she turned and began pulling Edith towards the garage. "We are engaged, you know. Such things would be allowed, even the way we were brought up."_

_Edith's eyebrows furrowed slightly. "I'm not so sure…"_

"_Or …..perhaps not. Anyway, I'm to be a working class woman now, so I suppose I'm just preparing for my next role, that of wife," Sybil said, wondering how deep her blush was, and what her sister might exactly read into it. _

_Edith smiled, but said nothing._

_In another moment they were at the garage door, which was closed. "I hope he's still in, and he's not gone back to his cottage…." She said._

_Edith's head darted around, as if she was thinking something new. "You've not…."_

_Sybil cut her quickly off, not sure that she wanted to answer her sister's next question. "Come on, then. He must be inside," she said, hurrying Edith forward._

_It was dark in the garage. Sybil found herself looking around for Tom a bit nervously. Finally she spotted him, leaning against his workbench, a newspaper in his hands, the space lit by a lamp._

_She grinned. Even in the winter's cold, he had his jacket off, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up just a bit, exposing of the white skin that Sybil wanted to touch every time she saw it._

Uh. If Edith wasn't here…._she began to think._

_At that moment Tom looked up and grinned at her. "Hello. I didn't know if you'd be back before I…."_

"_Hello. Tom." Edith said, breaking into his sentence in a complete breach of manners._

"_Hello," Tom said, looking a bit amused. _

_Sybil watched then as Edith's eyes flickered from Tom's hands to her, and then back again. "I….I….is that one of the papers you're applying to?" she rushed on._

_Tom looked as if he wanted to laugh. Sybil lifted her eyes slightly, out of Edith's range of view, as if to apologize. _

_He gamely played along. "No, this is an English paper. Carson allows me the Times, once your father is done with them."_

_Edith's head nodded, but she said nothing, apparently now finished with this conversation._

"_Did you have a nice walk?" he asked, putting the paper down and turning to lean back on his bench slightly._

"_We did," Sybil answered._

_Edith nodded again._

She's not going to say anything more, I don't think,_ Sybil thought ruefully. _Perhaps if I do something it will force….

_Sybil walked over to Tom then, and stretched out her hand. Giving a quick glance to Edith, he followed her lead and reached out to hold it, his grip on her fingers just a bit tighter than normal._

_Sybil knew that Edith was watching the gesture. In that moment, though, all she saw was Tom._

_Something happened, then. Edith's brown eyes registered it, widening slowly. No voice spoke, but suddenly it was all there. Sybil, staring at Tom, her eyes full of love. Tom, grinning back, his grip on her hand firm._

I am his. He is mine.

_A short moment later, Edith spoke. "I'm sorry, Tom. Please - I had asked Sybil if we might come by the garage so I might offer you my congratulations, and then I come in and act as if we've never spoken before, hardly," she apologized, her brown eyes warm, her gaze slightly timid. "Please forgive me."_

_Tom's other hand reached down into his pocket. "There's nothing to forgive," he assured her._

_Edith shook her head. "No. There is. If you're to be….my….my brother….then I can certainly do better than that," she said._

_Tom smiled at her then, looking quickly at Sybil once, and then back at Edith. "Th….thank you."_

"_For what?" Edith said, appearing to be a bit baffled._

"_For…"_

For calling him your brother. You have no idea what that means to him. Or to me,_ Sybil thought._

"_For your congratulations," Tom said, not quite able to say more._

"_Of course," Edith smiled, seeming quite pleased._

* * *

"Tom? Are you here?" Isobel asked, as they descended the stairs to the warm kitchen.

Tom looked up, startled, from the small table where he sat, newspaper in hand. He turned to look at the trio of women as they walked into the kitchen.

"I am," he responded, ruffling his paper slightly as if to confirm his presence by the extra noise. "Can I help?" he asked, suddenly remembering to stand.

"Yes," Isobel said, looking around. "I've ordered some new teas from London, and the girls and I have decided we're to have a tasting session with them. We thought you might like to join us."

Tom looked over at Sybil, who was smiling. "I suppose…."

"Good. I've three new kinds, so we'll need three teapots." Isobel started to walk over to the sink. "Sybil, I don't suppose you would put on that large kettle there, and Edith…" she began

"Yes?" Edith said, feeling suddenly as though she was back in the middle of the convalescent home again.

"If you look in that cupboard, I think you'll find the cake that Mrs. Bird made before she left. Tom, there are cups on that shelf, there," she said, gesturing vaguely. Turning on the water, she began washing her hands thoroughly with soap and water.

Sybil, in an instant, was at her elbow to do the same.

"Right," Tom said, coming over next.

In another moment there was a tiny cluster of bodies there, at the sink, as they passed the soap from one set of hands to the next, like a group of small children. Sybil found her attention divided between Tom and Edith, who seemed suddenly like two children, both rushing to stand next to her in line.

"How many cups will we need?" Tom asked once his hands were washed, not sure of Isobel's intentions.

Isobel turned to Edith, who was now drying her hands on the common kitchen towel. "Will you want one for each tea?"

"Oh, no," Edith said quickly, shaking her head. "One will be fine."

"Right. Just four then, Tom," Isobel said.

"What sort of tea do you have?" Sybil asked, as she opened the door to the oven to stoke the coals slightly.

Isobel watched her with an admiring eye. "One is a new floral blend, I believe, with hibiscus in it, and then there's a tea flavored with oranges. I thought they both sounded rather spring-like," she said, turning to reach for the tins. "Ah. Yes. And the third is actually made for the Irish market, apparently," she said, reading the tin. "Irish Breakfast, they call it."

At that moment Sybil was terribly glad that her back was to the room. Biting back a laugh, she leaned closer to the stove, hoping everyone would assume that the sudden flush on her face was simply due to the heat rolling out of the oven, and not her thoughts.

_Irish breakfast indeed. Really, Sybil. You must stop thinking these things all the time._

As she looked up, though, she found that Tom's eyes were on her. He had a slightly amused, if naughty, look on his face as well.

Isobel, thankfully, was continuing to read the tea tin, and Edith was staring at the cake before her, which she was wondering how best to cut.

_Right,_ Sybil thought, closing the door and standing slowly. _Behave yourself._

"Shall I put this on plates?" Edith asked, turning to Isobel.

"Unless you think we should eat it straight off the table," Isobel joked.

Edith's eyes widened, and then she laughed. "I'm sorry. That sounded ridiculous."

Isobel smiled. "No, I should be the one apologizing for jesting with you."

"No harm," Edith said. "Are there specific plates I should use?"

Isobel looked at Tom. "Use the ones next to the saucers there, on the third shelf."

Tom nodded, and reached to retrieve them.

In another few moments they were all sitting at the plain kitchen table, three hot pots of tea before them, their cups all full.

Sybil smiled into hers as she lifted it for her first taste. Tom, it appeared, had suddenly taken to drinking his tea left-handed, so his hand lay on the bench next to her, a short inch from her leg.

_Quite strong,_ Sybil thought, as the taste of the tea registered in her mind. _Which is probably appropriate, considering…_

She felt Tom's hand then, suddenly creeping onto her leg.

Sybil glanced down quickly, and then back up, praying that Edith and Isobel wouldn't wonder about the sudden attention she was giving her leg.

"How is yours?" she asked, looking at Edith and praying she could keep her mind above the table.

Edith didn't respond for a moment, her focus on the taste of the tea. Finally she spoke. "It's rather light. I think it might do better without the sugar I put in it." She turned to Isobel. "Have you tried any of these before?"

Isobel shook her head. "No, I was saving them for today."

"Yes. I think I'll have another cup, maybe, without the sugar."

Isobel smiled slightly. "You could just pour that one down the sink, and start over," she offered.

Edith looked slightly shocked at the idea.

"Go on, it's fine," Isobel said.

With a quick glance to her sister, Edith stood then and walked to the sink, pouring the tea down the drain.

Sybil felt herself turning to look at Tom, then. _I wonder if he considers it a waste. I wonder if we'll have to worry about such things – one cup of tea._

His face revealed nothing as he continued to drink. His hand was now quite secure on her thigh. Sybil found herself wondering idly what was hotter – the sensation of the tea in her mouth, or his hand, which seemed to be burning through the fabric of her skirt.

She snuck a look at him, then, wondering if he'd give any indication. When her eyes met his, they were clear blue pools, devoid of any hint of visual larceny. _My God. He can keep the straightest face, sometimes. God knows what he could do to me under this table, without so much as an indication… _

She quickly turned to watch Edith coming back to the table then, forcing her mind off _that._

"Mmm. This is rather tasty. I do think I may order more of this orange tea, or whatever they call it," Isobel said.

Tom nodded in agreement. "It's very nice."

Isobel took another drink and watched as Edith poured herself a second cup of the hibiscus tea, this time drinking it straight without any sugar.

"Ah, yes. Much better," Edith said. "And how does your Irish taste, Sybil?" Edith asked, presumably innocently.

"Very… strong," Sybil replied, working very hard to keep her eyes focused on her sister without widening them. She could have sworn that Tom gave her thigh just the slightest squeeze then.

The quartet chatted amicably for a few moments about the drinks. When Isobel finished her first cup, though, she sat her cup in the saucer and promptly turned their discussion in an entirely different realm

Looking from one sister to another, she folded her hands on the table. "There is another reason that I invited you here, today. Besides the tea," she started.

Sybil placed her cup in the saucer then, wondering what Isobel was about to say.

"Dr. Clarkson received an invitation to attend a symposium on the effectiveness of care across the various hospitals and convalescent homes that operated during the war. It's to be held at your training school, in York," Isobel continued, nodding towards Sybil. "He cannot attend, but he asked if I might like to go."

Sybil felt Tom's hand tense immediately upon the word York. _I wonder if he'll ever completely get over that, how awful I was to him, that day,_ she thought, regret rising up in her stomach.

"In addition to going myself, though, I wondered if the two of you might like to accompany me, since you were both heavily involved in the work we did."

Edith blinked. "Wou….would it be alright, as we weren't invited?"

Isobel nodded. "Yes. I spoke with one of the women coordinating the event on the telephone yesterday, and she assured me that it would be."

The sisters turned to look at each other across the table. Seeing the interest in Edith's eyes, Sybil responded. "Yes. It would be quite interesting to compare our experiences with others. Certainly."

"Very good," Isobel responded, obviously please. "It's scheduled for next Monday."

"Is it one day only?" Edith asked.

A look of hesitation passed into Isobel's eyes then. She turned then, interestingly, to face Tom. "It is," she began, the slightest bit of hesitation in her voice.

_There's more to this too, I think,_ Sybil thought, watching her cousin closely.

Isobel's hands reached for the teapot nearest her then, and she poured herself another cup. No one spoke as they all watched her, Tom the only one to raise his cup to his lips.

"The next part is rather my idea," she said, reaching for the small pitcher of milk on the table, and pouring some of it into her tea. "It occurred to me that you might like to continue on, then, and accompany me on a visit to Manchester."

Sybil blinked, surprised.

"When Matthew and I moved to Downton, we did not sell our home. We were not entirely sure, at the time, what would happen, and thus we decided to keep the property, and find a tenant. The scheme worked nicely. We have had a very nice family, respectable people, there ever since."

She took a sip of her tea then, pausing slightly.

"Not long ago, I received a letter from one of Matthew's former law associates informing me that the family had decided to leave the house, and move to the south, leaving the house empty at present. It found myself thinking, then, that it might be nice to go back again, for a short visit – no more than a week or so, at most."

She turned to face Sybil then, her eyes watching the young woman quite closely. "It occurred to me last night, as I was thinking about making such a trip, that it might be useful for you to come with me, and we could spend the week making some preparations for your marriage. I could show you how a small house can be run, quite efficiently. When I first married I had no help, other than a woman who came in and did the laundry once a week. I know that it can be rather intimidating to suddenly have a home of one's own, and I suspect that you've not had the opportunity to learn such things."

Sybil shook her head, clearly taken. "No. I've had lessons in cooking and baking, and of course I cleaned at the hospital, but…"

Isobel nodded. "I thought as much. I'm not saying that you will learn all there is to know in a week. But I do think that it could be terribly useful to you. I can teach you how to set up a household budget, how to shop at a market, when it is appropriate to bargain for items, and things of this sort."

Sybil turned to see Tom nodding. "I think it would be an excellent idea. Thank you very much," she said.

"Yes. Thank you," Tom added. "I'll confess that I don't have a great deal of knowledge regarding such things myself, as my mother always managed our house."

There came a small clink then from the other side of the table, their eyes turning to watch Edith as she was fiddling with her now empty teacup.

"Might I come as well?" she asked, a bit tentatively. "I know I'm not engaged, but those do sound like terribly useful lessons."

"Absolutely," Isobel said, reaching over to touch Edith's arm gently. "They are skills that any modern woman should have, regardless of position or rank."

Edith smiled.

"That brings me then, to you, Tom," Isobel said, turning to face the handsome face across from her. "Now this is where things become a bit more….unconventional."

_I can hardly imagine,_ Sybil thought. _God knows what Mama and Granny would think as it is, Edith and I receiving lessons in how to run a middle class, or even a working class, home._

"I want to begin by saying that you are welcome to refuse me, as I know that this request is rather out of line. And I also want to say that I will take care of arranging all of this – for Edith and Sybil as well as for you – with Lord and Lady Grantham."

Tom's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Alright…."

"It occurred to me, as I was thinking over this, that such a visit to Manchester might do Matthew a great deal of good as well. He still keeps in touch with some of his former colleagues and old friends in there. I wonder what you would think of me bringing him along for the trip, and you as well."

Sybil's eyes widened slightly, and she could feel her heart swell. _Oh, please. Please please please. Give us a few more days like Liverpool, when we can…._

"I spoke with Dr. Clarkson this morning, and he agreed that the trip could be beneficial to Matthew. He emphasized, though, that it would be best to take Matthew to Manchester in the motor. "

Tom nodded.

"Now. I realize that the conventional thing to do would be to have Mr. Mosley accompany us. He does not, however, drive. There are, as we all know, spaces for five people in his Lordship's cars."

"Yes." Sybil said it without even realizing that her mouth was open.

Isobel looked at her quickly, and then back to Tom. "I wonder if you might consider coming with us, and assisting me with Matthew's care. I realize that it is completely out of your normal duties, and I apologize in advance if such a breach would offend you. However," Isobel rushed on, "if you could help with simple tasks, like lifting him, I can assist him with more personal matters. I thought, though, that it might be a nice way for you and Matthew to spend some time together, getting to know one another."

_That's brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! Matthew would not mind at all, I'm sure, and perhaps he and Tom might begin to form a friendship…._

Sybil turned to look at Tom, who seemed to be processing everything in his mind. Finally he spoke, his second hand coming back up to the table.

"Would I be his valet?"

Isobel's head shook. "No. You would drive us, of course, although if Edith and Sybil and I needed to go somewhere, and you preferred to stay with Matthew, Edith could of course take us. I thought that once we got to Manchester, though, you might put your livery aside for a few days then, and simply become one of the family, so to speak. You'll be able to stay upstairs, even, as there are three bedrooms, and I have no doubt that Matthew wouldn't mind sharing."

_Upstairs. Out of livery. Oh, it's so nice when someone else sees Tom this way, as a real person._

"I expect that we would tell Mr. Matthew about our….situation….then," Tom asked.

Isobel nodded. "It would make it easier. And I can reassure you that you have nothing to fear. Matthew will be quite accepting of you and Sybil, I have no doubt."

Tom nodded then, slowly. "And have you put this to Mr. Matthew yet?"

Isobel shook her head. "No. I wanted to ask you first."

"Yes." Tom turned then, to look at Sybil. "Well, love? Should we?"

Sybil smiled back. _An entire week with Tom, and Isobel and Matthew and Edith. _"I think it sounds lovely."

Edith quickly added her approval. "It would be very nice, to get away from everything here," she said, adding her vote.

"Well," Tom began, reaching down suddenly to grab Sybil's hand and pull it, in his, up to the table. He looked at their fingers, briefly, and then at Isobel. "Yes."

"Excellent!"

Sybil grinned and squeezed Tom's hand. _Yes. Excellent indeed._

* * *

"Thank you, Bates. That will be all for the evening."

Bates nodded to Matthew and turned to look at Tom, who was still standing next to Matthew's bed.

"Branson, I wonder if you might stay a moment," Matthew said, answering the unspoken question.

"Of course, sir," Tom replied, as Bates walked out the door.

"Close the door please," Matthew said, as soon as he was gone.

Tom turned to complete the task.

"And please sit down. There's no reason for you to look as though you're standing at attention when it's just the two of us," Matthew grumbled good-naturedly.

"Thank you," Tom said, moving to sit in the chair near the foot of Matthew's bed.

Matthew exhaled. "I apologize that my mother has cornered you into doing this. I know she thinks that this trip will cheer me up, but I'm not sure that it's very considerate of her to force you and Lady Sybil and Lady Edith to go along as well."

Tom could feel a smile playing on the edge of his lips, but he said nothing.

"I hate being a bother to anyone, and God knows I shouldn't be to you. Taking care of me isn't even close to being a part of your job." Matthew offered Tom an apologetic look.

"I don't mind," Tom replied, his answer more casual than it would have been with any other member of the family, save Sybil, of course.

"Mother just – I don't know what is in her head, exactly. She was insisting earlier that it would be so lovely to have all of us young people together, outside of the walls of Downton. A harbinger of the future, she called it, I think."

_An interesting comment,_ Tom thought. _Is this the opening that Sybil said I was to look for?_ He looked at Matthew with a cautious eye.

"Is there more to this then I know?"

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Am I to answer that?"

Matthew's head turned sharply as he continued to sit, half up, in his bed.

"There is more, isn't there."

_Here goes,_ Tom thought, mentally crossing himself out of childhood instinct. _Holy God, please…._

"I believe there is, sir." As much as he hated it, the caution seemed to creep in at the end there.

Matthew rolled his eyes at this. "If you're going to be picking me up and putting me down and having to do God knows what else for me for a week, you're not going to call me sir. Not when we're alone, at least. Perhaps in front of the ladies, but not when it's just us."

Tom nodded.

"I'm Matthew."

"And then I'm Tom."

"Yes."

"And I think you'll find that the ladies will probably be calling me that as well."

Matthew's expression changed then from slight irritation to confusion.

"Sybil and Edith, I mean. And Cousin Isobel."

Tom watched as Matthew's eyes clouded. Too kind to rebuke him, Matthew simply said nothing for a moment, obviously not sure of where the conversation was headed.

Finally he spoke. "_Cousin_ Isobel."

Tom nodded. "She asked me to call her that, when we're alone."

"In the motor?"

Tom nodded. _Or at her house, when I'm visiting with my fiance..._

"If you'll not think me terribly rude, may I ask why?"

Tom breathed deep, his hands, desperate to creep into his pockets, instead worrying themselves in his lap.

"Because come summer, I will be her cousin. By marriage."

Matthew's eyes widened at this. "By mar –" Then he stopped and his gaze moved to the wall, as if he was seeing a parade of female faces before him.

In a moment he looked back at Tom, clearly intrigued. "If you're getting married, and my mother will become your cousin, then you must mean that you're –"

Tom's eyes darted involuntarily to the closed door, his nerves fighting with his pride. "We will tell them, before we go. We're not going to run off. As soon as I find work, and she's ready…."

"She? Tom, who are you talking about?" Matthew asked again, obviously puzzled.

"You'll know, if you think about it," Tom began, allowing himself the ghost of a smile "Sometimes I wonder that everyone hasn't recognized it already, the way I can't help but look at her." Tom's eyes came back to Matthew then. A brief glimpse of sadness darkened the blue. "Now that I think of it, you were actually with me the day that I realized that I loved her."

Matthew was clearly lost.

"It took the fear of losing her, though, to make me recognize it."

Matthew's eyes closed. "The Count."

"Sybil." Tom's voice was terribly soft, suddenly, as if saying her name within the walls of the Abbey might bring it down around him.

"Sybil," Matthew echoed.

The clock ticked, the only break to the silence for a long moment.

Matthew shifted slightly in the bed again, but Tom did not move, his frame perfectly still.

"You're to marry Cousin Sybil."

Tom, always so verbose, found himself searching for his voice. "I am."

"Who all knows of this, if I may ask?"

"Edith, and your mother. And Daisy, the kitchen maid."

Matthew's eyebrows knit together slightly. "The kitchen maid."

"It's a long story," Tom said.

"Are you going to marry here?" Matthew asked, his voice incredulous.

"No." Tom shook his head. " I think we all know that such an option will not exist for us."

"Right." Matthew nodded, his eyes a little stormy.

"And we would be much obliged if you would not say anything about this to _anyone._ Our initial intent was to not tell anyone. Your mother, though, heard a rumor that Sybil had a beau from one of her former instructors, and then confronted us about it."

Matthew's eyes rolled. "That sounds exactly like my mother."

Tom allowed himself a grin.

"But how did she find out, exactly? Did Sybil keep in touch with this instructor, and tell her?"

Tom shook his head. "No. We saw her – Sybil and I – when we were in Liverpool last fall, visiting friends of Sybil's."

"You and Sybil took a trip together?" Matthew asked incredulously.

Tom blushed. "I should have clarified that better. Sybil received an invitation to visit a fellow nurse, a friend she made when she was training at York," he began. _Which we'll now be seeing again. Good God, what will it be like to be back there, with her._ "Lord Grantham asked me to drive her to Liverpool, and allowed me a brief holiday to visit my brother, who owns a garage there."

Matthew nodded, a tiny smile creeping onto his lips. "So you went with her, and romanced her."

Tom's face continued to redden. Looking down at his hands, he forced himself to continue. "She did spend a great deal of time with her friend, Susan, and I spent my days with Kieran, helping in the shop. But yes, I did take her out for the evening."

Matthew shook his head slightly, as if trying to believe what Tom was telling him. "So you took Sybil out for a night on the town. My God. What…"

Tom felt himself stiffen, but forced himself to bite back a retort. He couldn't quite believe that Matthew would be condescending, yet…

"She seemed to enjoy herself very much," Tom offered defensively, his voice a bit tense.

Matthew's hand came up. "No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything. I was just trying to picture you and Sybil, walking out and having a merry time of it. Because I'm sure you probably did. She's a wonderful girl."

Tom looked back up at Matthew then, his eyes full of love. "She is. The most extraordinary woman I've ever met."

Tom felt then as if Matthew was trying to look inside of him then, somehow, his light blue eyes squinting slightly.

"Yes, she is," Matthew repeated. "And she must think you quite extraordinary too."

Tom cleared his throat softly, clearly embarrassed.

"You'll be very happy, if you think that well of one another," Matthew said, just a hint of longing in his voice.

Tom smiled again, his eyes a brilliant, happy blue. "We will be."

Neither spoke for a moment, as they shared a smile.

Matthew leaned back then, slightly. "If I can ask, what was it – what was the city - like? I was there, years ago now, but I remember liking it. A little gritty, of course, but I remembered feeling as though it was very – alive. Of course that was years ago, before I came to Downton…."

_During a much simpler time in your life, I dare say,_ Tom couldn't help but think, looking at Matthew. _His world has changed so much, and much of it not for the best. Crippled for life, alone, forced to see the woman he's in love with marry someone else. Under the constant watchful eye of the entire Crawley family….. I suppose the least I can do is amuse him a bit with a few stories about us. _

"Busy. It was pleasant, to spend a few days in a real city. I'm from Dublin, and while Liverpool is a far cry from that, it's still bigger then –" Tom gestured vaguely.

Matthew nodded. "I know. I miss Manchester."

Tom nodded. "There are certainly things to be said for the country, but I've found myself missing the city far more than I ever thought I would, when I first left. There's just so much there. Schools and evening lectures and political events and….'

"Theatres and pictures theatres and more than one pub, so if you don't want to see the same old faces you can go somewhere new," Matthew continued.

Tom nodded.

"I don't suppose," Matthew begin, his words a bit tentative, "I don't suppose you took Sybil out to one, when you were there," he said, as if trying to picture his youngest Crawley cousin in such a scene.

Tom laughed. "I did, actually. She asked me too. Though she said it actually wasn't her first time. She'd been to one with the other nurses she trained with, at York."

Matthew's head shook from side to side incredulously. "Did she drink?"

Tom laughed out loud at this before he could stop himself, his hand coming up to rub at his eyes. "Oh God. You should have seen her. She insisted that I buy her whiskey, and then announced that I was to teach her how to shoot it," he remembered fondly.

"Good Lord," Matthew said, clearly impressed. "Did she do it?"

Tom nodded. "Multiple times, actually."

Matthew's eyes grew bigger. "Are you telling me that Sybil Crawley got drunk at a pub in Liverpool?"

Tom looked around cautiously as Matthew's voice rose.

"Sorry," Matthew said, bringing his voice back down. "But really….did she?"

Tom nodded, blushing. "She did."

"Oh my God, what Cousin Robert would say if he…" Matthew started, only to be silenced by a terrified look from Tom.

"No, no no, I won't say anything. I promise." A wicked smile began to form on Matthew's face. "But only on one condition: that you'll tell me more about your adventures."

Tom grinned as he folded his arms over his chest, leaning back. _ I wonder how long he has? God knows it would be nice to have another man to talk to…_

"Well," he began, "the night after we visited the pub, I took Sybil to see a picture show called Tarzan…."

* * *

_And the bromance begins!_

_Please review! Thanks!_


	27. A Long-Awaited Apology

_There are lots of ways to apologize. With words, with kisses, with actions. This short chapter is about Sybil trying to do just that, to apologize to Tom for something that happened over two years before. It's set the night before they are set to return to York, the setting of so many of their dreams and nightmares._

* * *

_Sleeping Beauty?_

_Not quite._

_Handsome Prince?_

_Yes, but…._

_Slumbering Socialist?_

_Much better._

The hint of a smile ghosted across Sybil's lips. It wasn't enough, though to ease the wrinkles on her brow.

She straightened her back, sitting up a bit more upright. It was so tempting to slouch when one wasn't wearing one's corset.

Her hands rubbed together in her lap. They were itching to move, itching to do something. But she couldn't quite bring herself towards either action – reaching out to tickle him awake, or simply pulling back the blankets and burrowing under herself, wrapping his body with hers.

_God knows if I got in, I don't know if I'd ever be able to pull myself back out,_ she thought.

Tom stirred then, slightly, his face turning from one side to the next on his pillow. Without even realizing it, Sybil's hand came up to brush it back.

Tom's eyes opened, flickering in the dark.

"Wha?" he started.

Sybil's hand trembled slightly against his skin, but she said nothing.

"Sybil?" His eyes were opening wider now, his pupils large as he struggled to see properly in the dark.

Half smiling, she said nothing, but let her fingers caress down the side of Tom's face.

"Sybil, what's wrong?" Tom said, reaching up to grab her hand and hold it in his own.

She shook her head, but she still didn't speak.

Tom sat up then, his white skin shooting out from under the covers. He knew something was wrong – it would have to be to bring here out here, on such a cold night. His mind flashed quickly to what happened that day – nothing of terrible significance. Next, his mind went to what would happen tomorrow…..the beginning of their trip.

And Sybil, for her part, wasn't being terribly helpful. She said nothing still, giving Tom a weak smile, and then blinking rapidly.

"What's wrong love?" Tom said, leaning over towards her. "What's wrong? "

Sybil shook her head. "You should learn to lock your door," she said weakly, trying and failing to make a joke.

Tom shook his head. "No one ever comes here except for you and me, love," he said, knowing that she there was something behind this midnight visit.

Sybil turned and looked at the wall. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come out and woken you like this. I just…." She started, her voice cracking.

In that moment, Tom realized that the reason she was blinking had nothing do with seeing in the dark. She was crying, one tear, and then another, sliding down her cheeks.

In a moment's time Tom was out from under the covers then, reaching for her. "Come here, love," he crooned softly as he pulled her towards him, settling her onto his lap.

This broke the floodgates. Suddenly she was turning and reaching her arms around him, her frame shuddering against him, tears flowing down her face and onto the skin of his neck and shoulders.

Tom said nothing, but held her tightly, letting her cry, rocking her gently back and forth, making little shushing sounds that he mother made when he was a child.

"Shh. Shhh," he cooed.

He could feel her calm, finally, once her sobs began to slow. Her grip remained tight though, and Tom, not sure what else to do, simply held her until she was ready to talk.

Finally, it came. A cracked whisper in the dark.

"Did you hate me, when you left me at York?"

Tom's eyes closed in the dark and he instinctively pulled Sybil tighter, as if willing himself to remember that she was here, with him.

_Yes._

_No._

_I did, but then…_

_You told me to wait._

_You said –_

_And I said – _

It had been the worst night of his life, bar none. Driving home that evening, he remembered his eyes catching every tree on the way.

_If I just – _

_One quick turn –_

_I wonder if she'd even…._

But he hadn't, of course. No, he'd driven home – well, back to Downton, which at that moment had never seemed less like home – and had deposited the motor quickly in the garage, and then gone to his cottage and drank nearly the entire remaining contents of his only bottle of whiskey.

He'd cursed her with every swallow, every cough as the hot liquid poured down his throat.

"Tom? Did you?"

Sybil's voice brought him back to reality then. He loosened his grip slightly as she pulled back, her face red and tear-stained.

"Did you?" she asked again, quietly, one of her hands still resting on his shoulder.

Tom shook his head. "I tried to, but I couldn't."

"Why not?"

Tom breathed out heavily. Reaching a hand up to cradle her face, he shook his head slightly. "Because I was too deep in love with you. And because after I thought about it for a long time, I realized that you hadn't really said no….."

Sybil nodded, her eyes falling to her lap. "I….I remember realizing that too…..about halfway through the night. I…..I realized that I'd left the door open…."

Tom kissed her then, softly. Her lips made little movement under his, simply acquiescing.

"I know I should have apologized to you. I should have written…or have said something when I came home….."

Her eyes were pleading.

"But….I….."

Tom nodded mutely.

"I didn't….."

"It was probably best that neither of us said anything," Tom finally offered quietly.

Sybil bit her bottom lip, still clearly upset. "I…."

"I know, love. I know." It was all he could think to say.

Her eyes squeezed shut, then. "It just makes me so sad, now, that I treated you so poorly. I feel so guilty, still, now. "

_Ah. So that's it._

Tom reached for her and pulled her back against him, his lips kissing the top of her head, which was bowed down.

"Is that why you couldn't sleep tonight?" he asked, his soft words nearly lost in her mass of curls.

Sybil nodded against him. "I kept laying there, thinking about how tomorrow, we'd be back at York again, and I suddenly started to remember everything, and I wondered what you would think, tomorrow, and if there was a part of you that still resented me for it. I was just so afraid that we'd go and it would all come back and we'd quarrel, and it would be an awful…." Suddenly it seemed as if she couldn't stop the words.

_Does it still hurt when I think about it? _

_Yes._

_Will it always?_

_Maybe…..I don't know._

_But the difference is that you're here, now. You're in my arms. You will be in my bed, soon, God willing, every night. You'll pledge your life to mine …._

It took Tom another moment to realize that his own eyes were beginning to moisten as well.

He opened them and stared into the darkness above him, sending up a prayer of thanks that this woman – this crazy, beautiful, sweet, kind, loving, caring woman - was his.

"Tom?"

This brought him back to his tiny bedroom, back to her.

"Love," he responded, not really sure if it was a noun, a verb, or a title.

"It doesn't matter now, Sybil. It doesn't. All of that – what happened – it doesn't matter now. You're here, and we love each other and we're together….."

Her grip on him grew tighter again.

"I will….I did resent you, for a long time. I'm not proud that I did, but it's the truth. I….hated the thought of you coming home, even, but I also knew that I couldn't wait to see you again."

His hands were caressing her back, then, though her thick coat.

"And if you'd not told me to stay, at Downton, I'm not sure what I would have done. Even if you hadn't told your family. I don't….."

"I prayed you wouldn't. I remember lying there, that night, crying, praying that you wouldn't leave….that those wouldn't be the last words we'd ever speak."

He shuddered slightly, remembering that he'd had virtually the same thought. _Are those the last words we'll ever speak to one another. Is that it? Have we ended before we've ever truly begun?_

"I'm so sorry, Tom. So sorry."

He felt it as much as he heard it, her lips on the skin of his neck.

He should have nodded. He should have said yes. Anything would have been easier to end than what he did next.

He turned his own head, then, and reached to put his lips on her neck, pink on white.

Sybil said nothing, but let her hands drop to his ribs, her fingers splaying out, as if trying to cover every inch of his flesh that they could.

His mouth was opening now, and he was tasting her, letting his tongue say to her skin the words of reassurance that he couldn't form properly into words.

Sybil moaned as their flesh both went warm, suddenly, Tom's lips and nose teasing her, nuzzling the tip of her ear. He took it in his mouth and sucked on it.

She felt her own body start to harden, and his respond in kind.

_Oh God. God, Sybil. I want you so much. So much….._

Still, he couldn't find words to speak.

Instead his mouth wound its way lazily upward, until it was on hers, pulling and tasting and gently nibbling her bottom lip.

His hands – well, he wasn't sure exactly where they were. He wasn't really thinking properly. All he knew was that they held her, and that her flesh was warm. Soft. Yielding.

Whatever he was doing, she was leaning into him so hard now that he found himself pulling back, leaning back, into his pillow. And she was still there, on top of him now, her own hands reaching for his own flesh..

_You should go. You should._

"I know," she said breathlessly, between kisses. "I know…"

"You…."

"I know. I love you."

_Kiss._

"I love you too – "

_Kiss – much longer. Warmer. Wetter._

"And I will go," she said, her lips barely a hairsbreadth from his. "I will. But…."

"Syb…."

He hated that he had to send her away. Hated that he couldn't keep her here, for the rest of the night. Hated that he couldn't yet serve her as he wanted to, as he ached to.

"I know." _Kiss._ " I'll leave." _Kiss. _"I promise."

"But Syb..."

"I know, Tom. I know. We can't. We won't. But –"

"But," he gasped as she continued.

"But I'm not going yet."

* * *

_Review please! What do you hope to see once we get on the road to Manchester?_


	28. A Motor Ride and a Monster

_And we're off! We won't make it to Manchester quite yet in this fic, but I wanted to check in with our merry traveling band as they depart. The forbidden pleasures here? Remembering what happened last night – whatever that was. (No telling – let your imagination decide!) Being teased by your family about your relationship. And for Tom, the forbidden pleasure of a new friendship forming._

_For magfreak, who got me thinking about monsters, when Sybil read Frankenstein._

* * *

A ladylike hand came up to cover a somewhat gaping mouth. "Mmmm."

Edith turned and looked at her sister, an eyebrow lifted. "Didn't you sleep last night?"

Sybil hid a smile before she pulled her hand away, her thoughts drifting back to the night before, and the warmth of Tom's bed – and of Tom himself. _Egh. What I wouldn't give to be able to go to him like that again tonight, and tomorrow night,_ she thought. _I wonder if it will be that intriguing, when it's no longer forbidden, and we're allowed to do anything we want._ _When we're married. When we're actually legally required._

"Sybil?" Edith asked, not quite sure about the look on her sister's face.

"I did," she reassured her sister, her voice coming out a bit higher pitched than normal. _Well, after awhile. _"I just had a hard time getting to sleep," she over-explained.

Edith looked amused. "Excited?"

_Exciting._

"Yes."

"For the trip? Or for your traveling companion?" Edith teased.

Sybil flushed slightly. "It will be very nice to travel with you and Cousin Isobel and Cousin Matthew."

Edith's foot began to sway slightly. "Right."

"Right."

"Or Tom."

"Right."

Both sisters smiled at each other.

"Did he speak to Matthew already?" Edith asked.

Sybil nodded. "Two nights ago. He seemed rather surprised, but accepting."

Edith's head nodded. "That's good."

"It is," Sybil agreed quickly.

"Do you think they might be friends?" Edith questioned.

"I do hope they will. It would be nice for Tom to have at least one man in the family accept him," Sybil said.

"And I expect that Matthew would relish the thought of another man his age," Edith agreed. "Particularly when the other prospects for the family are limited to Papa and Sir. Richard, at this very moment," she added dryly.

Just then a sound from the top of the stairs caught their attention. Both of them looked up instinctively.

Edith opened her mouth as if to say something, but just then a maid walked by, bucket in hand. She closed it quickly.

"What?" Sybil queried.

Edith shook her head. "Later."

Sybil nodded. _Right. Later. In the motor. Or at the college. Or when we're in Manchester, settled in tonight._

It was so odd to think of – unlimited time in which she and Tom could be she and Tom. An entire week during which they would not need to sneak off to see one another. There could be a conversation in the garage, if they wished, but there could also be a conversation at the dinner table. Over their breakfast tea. At night, after dinner, before the fire.

_Or over the washing up. Or the making of breakfast. Or while going upstairs to bed._ It seemed so intimate. As if they were playing at house.

_Though of course there'll be Matthew there, and Isobel, and Edith._

As much as Sybil hardly shunned the thought of time alone with Tom, though, she found herself almost looking forward even more to the prospect of being with Tom with her family. Sharing him with them over their meals each day, during casual conversation. Someday about it made the normally mundane suddenly spectacular. It would be her and Tom, and her family, all together, as one family, for a full week.

_How wonderful._

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of male voices.

Neither sister could make out their words as they both looked up to the top of the stairs, brown and blue eyes searching, but both caught Matthew's laugh. Sybil found herself smiling in response to the sound, so glad to hear her cousin so relaxed and at ease, despite the fact that he was being carried at that very moment by an Irishman that he'd hardly even spoken personally with before a few days ago.

"Good morning," she said merrily, as the two turned and made their way down the second flight.

"Good morning," Matthew responded, nodding to both her and Edith.

Sybil could tell that Tom's lips were itching to add a greeting of his own, though he merely gave her a furtive wink as their eyes met.

_Good morning. And a good night it was too, last night._

"Here, let me," Sybil began, walking towards the front door.

"Allow me, milady," Anne said, appearing suddenly and walking briskly to the door.

Sybil felt a hand rest lightly on her arm, then, and knew instinctively that it was her sister. _Let her,_ it seemed to say. _You'll be doing it for yourself, soon enough._

Truthfully, though, her own hands still itched to move. _Let me. Please. Let me just be myself._

The two men continued out the door, straight to the motor, where Tom set about putting Matthew into the passenger seat. Sybil and Edith both walked to the back of the motor, Sybil reaching up to turn the handle on the door, determined to do something for herself, at least, on this fine morning. She stepped back then, standing as Tom normally would have, and offered her sister a hand into the car.

Edith gave her a grin and shook her head ever so slightly, stepping into the motor and settling herself at the far end of the bench seat, facing forward.

Sybil scurried in after her, not waiting for Tom to be done with Matthew. She sat on the seat that backed up to Tom's, knowing from experience just how close this would bring them.

As soon as she pulled the door shut, she turned to face her cousin, who was in the process of making himself comfortable up front. "I trust you are well this morning?" she began.

Matthew grinned. "Not as well as you are, I expect."

Sybil smiled brightly, forcing her eyes to stay on her cousin, and not drift to her fiancée. "I am very well indeed, thank you," she chirped.

Lowering his voice, and checking to be sure that no one but their quartet was within hearing range, Matthew continued. "And please forgive me for not expressing my congratulations on your engagement sooner. I am very happy for you."

_He's such a kind man,_ Sybil thought, grateful again for the kind person that fate had brought their way several years before._ You know, it's odd, _she thought. _All those years ago, there was no Matthew in our world, and no Tom. How lonely we must have been. _

"Thank you!" she replied, reaching out to grasp one of Matthew's in a warm clasp before turning and resting her hands on the back of Tom's seat.

Just then he opened the door to his own seat and got in, Sybil's fingertips on his shoulders. "Good morning," she said, low, something warm and perhaps just a little bit hungry in her tone.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Should we leave you two alone?" he teased.

Tom flushed slightly and forced his hands on the wheel. "Good morning," he responded, his voice slightly husky.

It took all of Sybil's effort then not to groan softly. _Alright, maybe we won't be able to be completely honest this week. Because if I was to say what I was thinking right now…._

"Anna's still at the door," Edith reminded her sister gently, breaking her train of thought. She looked at the house intently.

Sybil retracted her fingers and forced herself to turn. Just then she yawned again, a little mew escaping her in the process.

Edith shook her head. "You really didn't sleep much last night, did you?"

Sybil could almost feel Tom biting his tongue in the front seat.

* * *

"You two go in and fetch Cousin Isobel. I'll stay in the car with Matthew," Edith said, as Tom pulled the Renault up in front of Crawley house just a few short moments later.

"Right," Tom said, still trying to acclimate himself to the casual mood that was flowing through the motor. It was so odd – having Matthew riding up front with him, and Edith and Sybil in the back, the four of them chatting amicably, Tom this and Matthew that and Edith something else.

_Please God, let us be able to come back and do this when we're married,_ Tom thought, getting out of the motor and stepping around to the back to open Sybil's door.

He stood a little closer than necessary as she moved to get out, forcing her to brush up against him.

"Thank you, Branson," she teased, blue-gray eyes coming up to look at him through hooded lashes.

"You're welcome, Branson," he responded, turning so only she heard the words.

She flushed prettily.

"You know, I think that's what I'm going to call you, when we're married," he said.

"Am I to be your servant then?" she responded with a bit of sauce in her voice.

A slightly wolfish look came over Tom's face. "I think we'll find plenty of ways to serve each other," he said.

_Ah, so that's what we're calling it. Hmm. It does rather give another meaning to the term, I suppose. _

It took a great deal of Sybil's self-control, then, to resume walking, Tom close behind her as she made her way to Isobel's door.

Both nodded to Mr. Mosley's good morning as he opened the door, ushering them inside.

Tom, once more the professional man, quickly retrieved Isobel's luggage, turning to take it back out to the motor while Sybil turned to accept a warm kiss on the cheek from her cousin.

"I'm so pleased that we can all make this trip together," Isobel said, releasing Sybil's hand and turning to face the mirror, where she straightened her hat.

"As are we," Sybil said, knowing that Mosley would assume she was referring to herself and Edith.

Isobel gave her a smile in the glass.

"Mosley, please look after things while we're gone. We'll be back on Saturday."

"Yes Ma'am," Mosley responded.

"Right. Well?" Isobel said, turning to Sybil, who nodded eagerly.

"Thank you," Sybil said, as Mosley opened the door again, allowing the ladies out.

Edith greeted Isobel as she and Sybil allowed Tom to help them into the back seat, and then Isobel reached up to rest a hand on her son's shoulder, exchanging warm good mornings.

"I must say that I'm surprised that Sybil let you ride up front with Tom," she teased as the motor began to move.

Edith laughed and Sybil flashed a somewhat guilty smile. _I do still remember those rules for riding up front, should we have the chance._

"Tom and I must stick together. You have us rather outnumbered."

Edith rolled her eyes. "And don't you forget it," she teased back.

"Besides, for everyone's safety, I think it might be best to keep them apart, at least in the motor," Matthew continued. "Best not to distract the driver, of course."

Tom flickered his eyes over to his seat mate, wondering if he dared. He licked his lips, but didn't say anything yet.

"What?" Matthew said, catching Tom's expression.

Tom shook his head.

"No, you must say it…." Matthew's hand moved up then, to tap Tom's shoulder lightly. "We're not to have secrets on this trip, Mother's orders."

_Interesting._ A smile began to form on Tom's lips then. _Well, I suppose…_

"I was just thinking that perhaps it would be in everyone's best interests to keep the driver happy, then, considering that at the moment your collective fate is in my hands." Tom tapered off, hoping that no one would be offended by the fact that he was, in fact, casually threatening four members of the Crawley family.

Matthew only laughed, though. "Hm. Perhaps we should have Edith drive?"

Isobel shook her head. "No, I think not. I don't think it would be wise to put them in the back seat together, either," she joked. "They might kick me to the front, which could be rather tight with three.."

Sybil flushed, somewhat surprised at what Isobel was intimating. When she stopped to think about it, though, she had to admit that such an arrangement was not without its virtues. _Now that's one place we've not been,_ she thought wickedly. _And it sort of surprises me, as much as Tom likes this car…._

Edith's eyebrow rose slightly at this as she watched her sister blush.

Sybil caught the glance, and felt her cheeks flood even darker. _I'm going to have to be careful around Edith, I think. I'm not sure what she might think, but she's not stupid. She might be able to detect more of what I'm thinking than I would like._

"What will you do today, when we're at the symposium?" Edith asked, attempting to steer the conversation back onto neutral ground.

"If the weather's nice, I think Tom and I might go exploring a bit. There are two or three bookshops that we might visit down by the river, that I remember liking. I used to frequent those quite often when I would go in to York."

_You're doing well, Matthew, as I expect you know. Tom will find that quite a pleasant way to spend time._

"And I expect we'll take lunch at a pub, and then just potter about this afternoon. Do you know how long you'll be?"

"The meeting schedule that I saw said that we'd be done by four o'clock," Isobel offered.

"And then we will go on to Manchester?" Edith asked.

"Yes, I expect so."

Tom nodded from the front seat. "Mrs. Patmore packed us a basket, if we wish anything to eat on the way," he said, his accent seeming to thicken as he spoke, a sign that he was relaxing.

_Which means that we'll arrive in time to make dinner, then. I wonder what it will be like, if it will be awkward at all, Tom eating with us._ She remembered then, how easily she and Tom and Edith and Isobel had taken tea then. _No, I don't think it will be,_ she decided, smiling.

"Are we to make dinner tonight, then?" Edith asked.

Isobel smiled. "That or starve, my dear," she responded with just a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

Edith flushed. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," she quickly confessed.

Isobel reached a hand over to pat on Edith's knee. "I'm sorry dear, I was being cheeky. But yes, we will make dinner when we arrive."

"What are we to have?" Edith said.

"I've asked Mrs. Brown, my friend Marianne, to have her cook call around and deliver a few basic groceries to the house, so we'll not have to worry about food for tonight or tomorrow morning. We'll have chops tonight, and I asked her to leave some vegetables to go with it, whatever looked best, and some fruit and coffee for after. And then of course some eggs, flour, rashers, tea and bread for the morning. We'll get our milk and butter when the milkman comes, of course."

Sybil could almost watch Edith attempting to process this all.

"I expect we'll all eat downstairs in the morning," Edith said.

Isobel smiled. "Unless you wish to take yours back up to your room," she teased.

Sybil gave a little giggle at this, wondering if Tom had heard the comment, and was also thinking about the conversation they'd had involving breakfast in bed.

"I'll have you and Sybil in the blue room, which we used to use for guests. There are two beds in Matthew's room, so he and Tom can both bunk in there," Isobel said casually.

Edith's eyes widened slightly at her casual comment about beds for Matthew and Tom.

"There's a bath upstairs, which we'll all share, and then a small water closet downstairs," Isobel continued. "We'll have to figure out some sort of schedule for when we all wash up, I suppose."

A sudden vision of Tom in the bath filled Sybil's mind. Coughing slightly, she turned quickly to look out the window.

"I hope you brought things that you could manage on your own," Isobel said to Edith.

Edith nodded. "Of course. And if not, then Sybil can play Anna," she said, poking her sister's foot with her own.

Sybil turned a red face to Edith. "O…of course," she stuttered slightly.

She could almost read the thoughts in Tom's mind then. _And I'd be happy to help you, milady, should you need any assistance._

"Will we have the chance to meet any of your friends?" Sybil asked, hoping to move the conversation in a safer direction.

She felt Tom stiffen slightly on the other side of the seat at this, much to her surprise.

Matthew responded first. "Yes. I telephoned my old office the other day, and they invited Tom and I to stop by some afternoon."

_Tom and I. He says that so casually,_ Sybil thought, pleased.

"You'll like Michael best, I expect. You share a great deal of political opinions, I think."

Sybil found herself wondering slightly at this. _Is he referring to Tom's general liberalism, or have they discussed politics already?_ _I wonder just how much they did talk the other night._

"So I won't shock them, then?" Tom replied, his posture relaxing slightly again.

"No," Matthew shook his head. "Michael's very liberal."

"Are any of them interested in what's happening in Ireland?" Tom asked.

"I expect that if they aren't, they will be when they're done speaking with you."

Tom's lips formed a small smile then.

"I've read that the suffragette movement is quite strong in Manchester," Sybil offered.

"It is, I'm glad to say," Isobel responded quickly.

"Will we find you in the park some afternoon then, demonstrating?" Matthew teased.

"Perhaps," Sybil responded, a pleased look on her face.

"Will Sybil and I get to meet any of your friends, or will this be men only?" Edith chimed in.

Matthew turned around slightly. "Should you like to come along to the pub with us?"

Edith looked slightly surprised at the suggestion. "We could…." she said hesitantly.

"Oh yes! Let's!" Sybil added quickly.

This brought a raised eyebrow from Isobel.

"I went when I was in York, with some of the nurses," she explained quickly.

"And again in Liverpool," Matthew started, only to earn a laugh from Tom and a look of surprise from his cousin.

"Did you?" she started, turning around full in her seat then to look at Tom. "Did you tell him about that?" she squeaked.

Matthew laughed and reached a hand out to pat Tom on the shoulder. "Tom had some wonderful things to say about the last time you two traveled together," he teased.

Sybil could see Tom's ears turning a bit red. She stretched around then to see his face, covered in a broad grin.

"You did tell me I could speak with him plainly," Tom answered cheekily.

Sybil frowned.

"As I said," Matthew intoned drily. "Tom and I have to stick together."

She snorted. "Do I want to know how much –"

Edith was leaning forward now, looking as if she hoped she might learn something from her sister's words. Isobel, meanwhile, simply wore an amused smile.

Matthew and Tom both shook their heads.

"No."

"No."

Sybil groaned again. _I think I might have just created a monster._

* * *

_The bromance! Ah, those two. So much to love._


	29. Healing

_I had originally intended the next chapter to be set in Manchester, the evening of their arrival. The more and more I thought about it, though, the more that I realized that we needed to see more of York. I wrote this more from Tom's perspective, as it gives us a chance to snoop in on the bromance again (swoon) and as we've been hearing a lot more from Sybil lately. _

_Again, it amazes me that no one else seems to have ever done this. I hope you approve of my treatment of it, and that perhaps it might become mind canon for a few of you. As always, thank you so much for reading and following along! It absolutely blows my mind that there are 99 followers for this story. Thank you for hanging in there, and continuing to read!_

* * *

Tom looked up. The sky was still clear, if starting to darken. _The nights are so long this time of year,_ he thought to himself idly. A vision of Sybil in her nightgown sitting on his bed came back to him then, causing him to shiver happily as the memory. _God knows that next year, they won't be long enough, though._

It still amazed him, sometimes, that this was all happening. That Sybil had agreed to marry him. That she was preparing for her life as his wife – _his wife – _in which they would live in a small flat in Dublin and embrace life's struggles together, crying, laughing, and loving as they passed the years of their life together.

_I never would have dreamt it all, when I brought her here,_ he thought, his gaze falling slightly to the rough stone of the buildings that made up the college. _I knew I loved her, and I wanted her so terribly, but I don't know if honestly dreamt that she would ever really say yes, that we'd ever make it this far._

It was funny. After he's proposed to Sybil at York he'd spent so many sleepless nights wondering what he had done wrong, or what more he could do, to try and make things right. Yet throughout all of it, a seed of doubt had remained. Was it all foolish? Was it all a fantasy? Would he grow old and bitter by himself, refused by the only woman he'd ever loved?

_And yet she said yes._ He grinned then, his hand reaching inside his jacket for his waist, where he propped it, his lanky body taking on a confident, almost arrogant pose. _She said yes. And I'm going to take her home soon, as my bride._

Something made Matthew turn then, from the conversation he'd been having with a fellow veteran, and look at Tom.

Tom caught the movement and turned to grin at Matthew, suspecting that he would probably follow the course of his thoughts.

Indeed, Matthew smiled back before making another statement to the man sitting before him, who was also confined to a wicker wheelchair.

Matthew nodded slight towards the buildings, seeming to tell Tom that he was welcome to leave if he wanted, to stroll the grounds. Tom gave just the slightest nod in response, and making his excuses to Matthew's conversation partner, turned to begin walking about the campus as they waited for the ladies to be done inside.

It had been a good day. After they'd left the ladies at the college he and Matthew had continued into York, parking the motor and going to the riverfront, where the bookstores that Matthew had mentioned were located. It had taken them less than fifteen minutes in the first shop, Tom reading Matthew titles from the top shelves, before they launched into a spirited conversation about reading material, politics, and anything else they happened to end up discussing.

* * *

"_Peter the Great."_

_Tom's eyebrow lifted as he looked at his future brother-in-law. Is this man insane? he thought idly. They'd spent the last half an hour or so debating both present and historical world leaders, and their merits or lack thereof, based on some of the books they'd been perusing._

"_Yes, I am rather a monarchist," he replied sarcastically._

_Matthew chuckled softly. The two were tucked back in a small corner of the shop where an inviting table had been placed. It was flanked by two mismatched wooden Windsor chairs, one of which Tom was now occupying. The other had been pushed to the side, so Matthew could sit next to the table as well._

_Matthew's dirty blonde hair head shook. "No. But you must admit that for a monarch, he did do rather well at some things."_

"_Like forcing thousands of serfs to die while building his theoretical city?"_

_Matthew smirked, knowing that Tom was goading him on. "Like opening the civil service so anyone could advance based on their abilities, not just the nobles? And while the city was a disaster to build, you do have to admit that it has been an asset. It did open Russia up for trade. Had there never been a St. Petersburg, then the current revolution might now have ever happened."_

"_What, because there's not a proletariat in Moscow?" Tom quickly zinged back, enjoying this pointed, if friendly, exchange._

"_Because they wouldn't have been exposed to German ideas, maybe," Matthew theorized, his fingers coming up to form a steeple in front of him._

_Tom smiled and turned to look out the window. "German?"_

"_Marx was German. And Engels."_

"_Engels lived in Manchester for awhile, you know."_

"_The Conditions of the Working Class in England." Tom smiled, returning his eyes to Matthew's face._

"_I'm not even going to ask if you've read it."_

_Tom grinned. There was a well-thumbed copy on the bookshelf in his cottage._

"_Will you be going to pay your respects at Chetham's, where the two met?"_

"_It had occurred to me that I might try to visit it while we're there," Tom responded, amused by Matthew's perception. _

_Matthew tapped on the table. "So – see? They were Germans, in England. But their ideas made it to Russia, thanks to the ability to travel back and forth. Had Russia never opened up to the west, through Peter the Great –"_

"_Russia had diplomatic relations with England long before that," Tom interrupted._

_Matthew's white forehead wrinkled slightly. _

"_During the time of Ivan the Terrible. He actually proposed marriage to Queen Elizabeth."_

"_He did?" Matthew asked. "I don't remember learning that."_

"_Not that she ever seriously considered, I'm sure. No need to marry the great Gloriana to a Russian tyrant."_

"_Except that she wasn't called Gloriana until much later in her reign."_

"_Touche," Tom responded cheekily._

_Matthew smiled. "Mother made sure I learnt my queens well."_

_Tom laughed, an image of Isobel Crawley drilling her son over a history book forming in her mind. "I would expect no less."_

"_Of course."_

_Tom's eyes fell to the table, his lips silent. _I wonder.

"_What?" Matthew asked._

_Tom looked up, a bit startled. _

"_You don't need to just stop talking like that, you know. You're not going to offend me."_

Are you sure?_ Tom thought, wondering how far it would be wise for him to press his point._

"_Out with it." Matthew's hand tapped on the table lightly._

_Tom's gaze rose again. He shifted slightly in his chair. "Alright. I was just wondering if your mother supported the monarchy, or if she was a republican."_

_Matthew's eyes opened a bit wider. "I don't know if I've ever heard her say, directly."_

"_She does support the vote."_

_Matthew nodded. "She does. Both for women, and for all classes."_

_Tom shrugged slightly, knowing it was an informal working class gesture, which Matthew would catch. _

_He seemed to watch Tom for a moment before he spoke again. "That doesn't automatically make her a republican, of course," Matthew said. "I'm for the vote for everyone, but I don't know that I support an overthrow of the government. Monarchy, if checked by a parliament and strong constitution, can be successful."_

"_Yet voting in its very essence renders the monarchy obsolete. Let the people govern themselves, I say," he debated. "Certainly we're smart enough to do that."_

_Matthew shook his head. "I cannot imagine someone telling you that you're not intelligent enough to vote."_

_A smile hovered on Tom's lips, as he knew this was meant to be a compliment. Still, he wasn't expecting Matthew's response._

_The young man leaned back slightly in his chair, an entertained expression on his face. "You should ask Mother yourself, if you want to know."_

_Tom shook his head. _Really._ "At dinner?" he said, a bit incredulous._

"_If you like," Matthew said casually. _

_Tom was silent for a moment, and then spoke. _That would be a conversation starter._ "Perhaps I will."_

_Matthew grinned._

_His own gaze turned outside then. Neither spoke for a long moment, each lost in their own thoughts._

_When Matthew's eyes did return to seek Tom, there was a different look in them._

_Tom tilted his head slightly. "What?"_

_This time it was Matthew who refused to speak._

"_If I'm to speak to you honestly, then you must allow me the same privilege," he said, only aware after he had finished the sentence that he was giving the future Earl of Grantham an order._

"_Right," Matthew said, his fingers moving to trace the edge of the table, sliding over each scratch and groove slowly. "Is that why you never joined up?"_

_Tom's eyes closed for a second, a silver soup tureen filling his thoughts. The thought that followed was the same as it always was, when he remembered that night. _I almost lost her._ He opened them again quickly, hoping that Matthew would not take it as an offense. _

"_You aren't required to answer that, if you don't wish to," Matthew said a bit quieter._

"_Partially." Tom was speaking slower now, each word weighted individually. "They did try to draft me, but I was rejected due to a heart condition." _And saved by Anna and Mr. Carson's good sense, after that.

_Matthew looked surprised at this. "I knew there must have been a reason, but…"_

A reason. Yes - when I saw Sybil out of the corner of my eye, as I was about to get myself sent to jail. When I realized that if I did it, I'd be throwing my life away, and my only chance to ever be with her. Still, though, this was not what Matthew was referring to, and Tom knew it._ "Sybil knew, and Mr. Carson, of course. But I never advertised it."_

_Matthew nodded. "When?"_

_Tom looked suddenly uncomfortable. It was one thing to remember that night, and another to speak of it. "Do you remember the evening you came to Downton for dinner, with a general?"_

_Matthew blinked. "Yes."_

"_It was just before that."_

"_Ah."_

_Neither said anything for a moment then, each knowing there was more to the topic, but each exuding a general air of reluctance to say anything more._

_Finally Tom spoke, his voice steely. "I wouldn't have gone, regardless."_

_This brought a surprised expression to Matthew's face._

"_No." Tom's head shook slightly. "I'd not fight for Britain. Not when I don't believe in it."_

_Matthew waited a moment before speaking, his eyes searching the shelves behind Tom. "So you're not for home rule, then?" he asked._

_Tom exhaled. It was a difficult question still, but at least there was a simple answer to this one. "No," he said, his accent suddenly a bit thicker. "No, I'm not."_

"_So you want full independence."_

_Dark blue eyes met light blue. "Absolutely."_

_Matthew exhaled and brought his hands down to his lap. "Will you fight for that?"_

_Tom was quiet for a long time. _I will fight. But how? With a gun? With my pen? Will I put my life on the line for my country, thereby risking everything I have waited so long to gain? Knowing that I could be killed, leaving Sybil alone? Am I willing to sacrifice my happiness with her for the sake of my country? Finally he broke Matthew's gaze and looked out the window._ "I don't know." _

_He stopped for a moment, and then continued. "I will do – whatever I can – to help Ireland be free. But I don't know that I would be at my best staring at someone down the barrel of a rifle."_

"_I assume…" Matthew began._

"_Sybil knows. She knows what the situation is, as much as I do. I've been honest with her. I'd not take her without her knowing, without her truly understanding, what it may be like."_

_Matthew gave a curt nod._

"_She is fully aware. And she does support Irish freedom too."_

"_Of course." _

_It took Tom a moment to sort the statement out. 'Of course she does, because she's that sort of person.' Not 'of course, because you do.' This satisfied him. _He does respect Sybil's opinions, and realizes that she has her own mind. Unlike some in her family, I think.

_More silence followed._

"_All because of Peter the Great," Matthew finally said, the tension that had been building cracking then._

_Tom gave him an odd look. "What? That makes no sense."_

_Matthew laughed. "I don't know if it was supposed to."_

_Tom laughed too. "Right."_

* * *

Tom had been walking aimlessly about the campus for about five minutes when he spotted her, rising from a chair on the second floor of the building before him, her figure outlined by a light behind her.

He watched her as she turned and spoke to the woman who had been sitting behind her, Edith at her side. She said something quite animatedly and then gave a bit of a laugh, her heading tipping back just slightly.

Tom's hands crept into his pockets as a cool breeze blew past. _We should leave soon_, he thought. _It'll be cold, riding in the car up front, with the foot warmers long since cooled._

He found himself wondering idly if Sybil would try to take the passenger seat from Matthew, for this next leg of the journey. _I wonder just how proprietary she will be, this week._

The thought brought a smile to his face as he watched Edith enter the conversation then. _It is rather nice, having her so eager to claim me before them all,_ he thought, not for the first time.

Something made Sybil turned then, and look out the window. She was too far away for him to be able to meet her eyes, but he watched as she stood still for a moment, gazing in his direction, and then turned to speak to her sister again.

In a moment she slipped from the frame of the window. Tom's attention broken, he turned slightly and looked around him.

It wasn't until he turned fully around that he realized where he was standing. At first it looked like all the others, just a simple archway trimmed in roughly dressed stone. Then, though, the fragments came together. And suddenly, he was spiraling back though time.

_I'm terribly flattered…_

"No." He said it out loud without even meaning to. Someone passing by turned and looked at him oddly, and he felt his cheeks flush.

"No." This time he whispered it under his breath. _No. You'll not think of that. Think of what she says now. Think of how she welcomes your love, and returns it. Think of how she agreed to marry you, and how you'll be returning to Dublin soon. Think of anything but…_

His eyes shifted to the window again where she'd been standing. _She must have seen me, here. Standing on the green, framed by the archway, just as we were that day…._

Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm from behind. His eyes closed involuntarily, knowing it must be her.

"I love you."

The words were soft, but firm.

Tom nodded. "I love you too," he said slowly.

When he opened his eyes she was standing there, in front of him. He reached out for her, instinctively.

She said nothing for a long moment, blue-gray eyes staring into blue. Her hands gripped his, strongly, as if daring someone or something to separate them.

Tom licked his lips as if to move them, but nothing came forth.

She, too, was silent for a moment. She inclined her head slightly to one side, as if hearing the voices of the past.

_Bet on me._

_Bet._

_On._

_Me._

There were feet coming down the steps then, and people walking past. Neither seemed to care, though, as Sybil pulled Tom closer to her, placing his hands at her waist. Her own hands snaked up his body, one coming to rest of his upper arm, the other pulling at his neck.

"I love you," she said again, her voice just loud enough for Tom to hear. "And I thank God every day that we'll soon be married," she said, pushing the ghosts of their past away.

And then and there, surrounded by women and men, doctors and nurses, care givers and former soldiers, Sybil Crawley reached up and kissed the lips of the man she loved.

* * *

_Two historical notes. First, if you're not aware of what Chetham is, it's a library where Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels met. Big moment in socialist/communist history. Secondly, home rule is, if one dare boil this incredibly complicated subject down, the idea that Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England would all have their own parliaments and rule themselves on most domestic affairs, with all international and some other affairs falling to the House of Commons and House of Lords in London, who would have ultimate authority over all four. Many Irish had passionate opinions about the topic throughout the 19__th__ and 20__th__ centuries. I see Tom as being against the idea, as it still makes Ireland ultimately subject to that which was the British system, and Ireland still a 'possession' of the empire. I realize this is dicey politically, and I apologize if my explanation is lacking….my knowledge of Irish history is evolving. _


	30. Lending A Hand

_This chapter is for everyone who found themselves admiring Tom's…assets….during season three. _

_The setting is after their first dinner in Manchester. _

* * *

"Good to know that backside of yours is good for something," Sybil teased as she walked past Tom, who was holding the door to the kitchen open with his back end.

He made a face at her. "My backside, as you call it, is an important part of the work that I do," he insisted.

"Ah, yes. We can't have a bottomless chauffeur," Sybil replied tartly.

The dishes in Tom's hands rattled as he walked over behind her to the sink where she was standing.

Placing the stack in his hands on the wooden slab next to the sink, he used his now empty hands to reach down and squeeze her bottom.

"Tom!" She protested, trying to turn around.

"Yes?" he said, allowing her just enough room to shift so she was firmly pressed between him and the sink, his hips against hers.

"You're terrible," she said, her tone slightly scolding though her hands were already crawling up him, ready to pull him into a kiss.

Their lips were just an inch apart when she heard the door swing open again.

"Oh!" Edith said.

Sybil head tilted to the side then, her cheeks flooding bright red, as she looked around Tom's broad shoulders.

Tom, meanwhile, had taken a large step back.

"Oh no, we don't need any help with the washing up." Edith mocked in a sing-songy voice as she rolled

her eyes. "I'm terribly relieved to know that you came straight to the kitchen so you could get right to _work."_

Tom turned around and gave his future sister-in-law a guilty, if wide, grin.

"You two are terrible," she continued to fume, though her eyes were shining.

Sybil smiled and crossed her arms over her chest. "Did you want to stay and help? Play chaperone?"

Edith laughed. "And interrupt you having your way with Tom? I think you might smother me in my sleep tonight if I did."

Tom looked terribly pleased at this.

Sybil, looking from her sister to Tom and then back, groaned loudly. "You know you just encourage him when you say such things."

"As if you needed help," Edith replied tartly, putting down the cups she was carrying. "Aren't you supposed to be doing the dishes?" she said, reaching over to turn on the water for the sink.

"If you prefer, we could leave them for you, and we could go take a nice walk," Sybil hinted, amused at her sister's teasing.

Brown eyes caught hers as ginger curls shook. "No thank you. I'll leave you to your domestic bliss together, while I go entertain Matthew and Isobel."

"Do they require entertaining?" Tom asked, moving to pick up the top plate and scrape the contents of it into a small slop pail.

Edith rolled her eyes. "No, of course not. But that's what one is supposed to do after dinner, isn't it?" she

said, her sarcasm heavy.

Sybil's eyebrow rose suggestively as she looked at Tom. "One can always amuse oneself other ways," she began.

"That could fall under the category of entertaining, I believe." Tom said, his eyes widening in mock innocence.

Edith crossed her arms over her chest. "You two are insufferable," she said, as if stating a well known fact.

"We are, but you like us anyway," Sybil said, smiling at her sister.

"I suppose I do. Though it's going to be difficult to explain why I suddenly start to blush, midway through conversation about something perfectly normal, upstairs, when I remember you two down here, 'washing up,' she teased.

Sybil, in a terribly playful mood, gave her sister a playful wave as she walked back through the swinging door.

"She's very different when she's not around your family, you know," Tom observed as he continued scraping.

Sybil reached for the small box of soap flakes that sat beneath the sink and shook some into the filling basin. "She doesn't get too many chances to relax," Sybil said.

"Have you always been like this?" he said, flicking the last of the sauce off the final plate. "You've not talked much about her, until recently."

Sybil shook her head. "No. From the time we were little she and Mary always seemed to view everything as a competition. I think a lot of that originated with Patrick. She was terribly in love with him, but he had to marry Mary, because of the title and the money."

Tom nodded. "They've never seemed… close."

Sybil snorted. "You have no idea how terrible they were sometimes. I suppose that's why I read so much growing up….the library was a quiet safe haven from their bickering."

"Was that why you started escaping to the garage?" Tom asked as he moved the scraped plates towards the sink and lowered them into the rapidly bubbling water.

Sybil reached to turn off the tap. "I suppose so," she began, plunging a small rag into the hot water. She scrubbed for a moment, silent, starring in the suds. "Maybe at first. But even then, I wasn't always running away," she explained.

Tom turned to put the silverware into the dishwater. "No?" he said, watching her as she washed a plate clean before placing it in a dish of clear water for a rinse.

"No," she said, her tone quite firm. "I did come out for the pleasure of seeing you."

"Even that first year?"

Sybil nodded. "I liked to hear your opinions, to discuss political things with you. Even before I fell in love with you."

Tom smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You might be the only one."

Sybil knew this tone, and turned. "Tom."

He looked up from where he stood at the small work table, scraping the serving dishes.

Neither spoke for a moment, the silence heavy and thick.

Sybil was the first to break it. "You'll find something. You will."

He breathed out deeply. "I know. I have to, if we're ever to leave."

"You will. And not because you have to. Because you're a good writer," Sybil said.

Tom made a face. "You're not objective enough to be a fair judge."

"Are you saying that I'm biased?"

Tom smiled and turned to glance at Sybil. _Sometimes I wonder how she can believe in me, that much,_ he thought. "I should hope you are."

She smiled, meeting his eyes with a confident gaze. "Perhaps a little. But isn't that a good thing?"

Tom nodded slightly. "I suppose."

They fell into silence again for a moment, Tom finishing with the serving plates. Depositing the rest of them next to the sink, he picked up a towel and reached for the top plate in the rising tub.

Finally Sybil spoke again. "Did you bring any of them with you?" she asked, pulling a dish out of the suds to examine a bit of food that was clinging to it quite stubbornly.

"I did. Three, actually, that I'm reworking before I send them out to another paper."

Furrowing her brow slightly, Sybil applied her thumb nail to the plate, which sported a bit of food that seemed quite thoroughly glued to it. "You might ask Matthew to read them. He could give you some suggestions."

Tom's grip on the towel tightened slightly.

"He would be fair."

Tom nodded.

"You two seemed to get on well today. In fact I found myself wondering for a moment exactly how much competition I was going to be having, now, the way Matthew refused to give up his seat on the way here," she fumed good naturedly, trying to bring a lighter tone to the conversation.

This brought a slight smile back to Tom's face. "It was terribly cold up front."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "I'm sure we could have kept warm together."

_In front of her family? _It still amazed Tom, a bit, that she was becoming so openly affectionate. _Like this afternoon, when she kissed me…._

The memory was enough to send a shot of warmth through his body. He couldn't help but wonder how many people had walked by them, when they were standing there in the archway, their bodies pressed against one another. Had they been anywhere else, any other place, Tom wondered if he might not have felt a bit odd about it. After all, while he had grown up in an environment where affection was much more widely shown in public then she had, he still couldn't remember ever doing that, with so many people milling around.

_Yet I wouldn't have stopped her for the world, _he thought, marveling once again at how such a simple act had seemed to heal the scar that he still bore, inside, when he thought of York. _And I thank God every day that we'll soon be married._ He knew that he was going to have a hard time falling asleep tonight, the memory of those words, and that kiss, playing through his mind.

As much as he wanted to, though, he also couldn't push the nagging doubts from his mind when it came to his writing.

Sybil, meanwhile, was still hard at work at the dish. Suddenly, the food dislodged from the plate, bringing a pleased smile to Sybil's face. "There."

"I don't know that I've ever seen anyone talk to their dishes before," Tom observed wryly.

Sybil smiled. "Well, I've been told I'm rather a free spirit."

He smiled and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Thank God."

She watched him for a moment, her hands hovering above the suds. "I think he'd enjoy reading them."

The expression on Tom's face clearly said otherwise.

"He would."

Tom shook his head and reached for another dish. "You don't know that."

"Yes I do."

"No you don't."

"Tom," Sybil sighed, her hands splashing into the water in frustration. "Do it."

"Or?" A sandy eyebrow raised as he continued calmly drying

"Or?" she answered back archily.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a wicked thought crept into her mind. Determined to make Tom smile, she reached down into the water and then splashed her hand up, sending a small shower of water and bubbles in Tom's direction.

"Hey!" he called out, clearly not expecting it.

Sybil grinned as she reached for more water.

"What are you doing?" he said as he raised the towel up to protect himself, while Sybil persisted in sprinkling him with more water, this time from the tap.

In another moment they were splashing each other like two children.

Tom, ultimately the stronger of the two, finally managed to pin Sybil between himself and sink again, as she was earlier when Edith entered the room. This time, though, there was no one there to stop their kiss.

It took them several long, sweet-tasting moments before Sybil finally pulled back, a bit reluctantly. Her hand, which was still slightly wet, came up to rest on his chest.

"You'll be a fine journalist," she said softly.

Tom exhaled. "I hope so."

"You will."

Tom reached up to brush one of her curls back and placed a gentle kiss on her temple.

_It's amazing how much courage she gives me,_ he thought to himself. _Who would think – an English girl, from one of the best families, bolstering the nerve of a lowborn Dublin boy._

"It was interesting, earlier today, conversing with Matthew. I can't say that we share the same opinions always, but he seemed not to mind, as long as the sparring was good," Tom finally admitted.

"Maybe that's what you need to do," Sybil said, after a moment's silence. "Maybe you should spar with him, as you call it, about some of the things you're writing about."

"Would that be unfair to him?" Tom asked.

Sybil looked confused. "How so?"

"Because I'd be asking him to set-up arguments simply for the sake of being able to tear them down, and refute him."

_Oh, Tom,_ Sybil thought, inwardly shaking her head. "Are you discounting the idea that he might be able to say something that might change your mind?" she challenged him.

Tom had the decency to look slightly embarrassed at this. "Well –"

"He might raise a point that you'd not considered before."

"Yes."

"Or he might be able to punch holes in your argument, and therefore show you that your reasoning is false," Sybil said.

"Yes."

"Or he could –"

"Are you going to list every way that he could possibly find fault with my writing?" Tom asked, a bit exasperated.

Sybil gave him an even gaze. "Do you want help? Or do you want someone tell you that you're perfect and needn't change anything?"

Tom blinked.

"Don't misunderstand me, Tom Branson. No one loves you more than I do, and no one wants you to succeed more than I do. But even I don't think you're perfect."

A tiny, sheepish smile began to play on Tom's lips.

"Are you sure I can't do anything to convince you otherwise?" he said, leaning in for another kiss.

Sybil, though, wasn't done. Putting her hands firmly on Tom's chest, she pushed back. "How much time do you think I've spent in the last several years, trying to see the world from your perspective? How many hours have I lain awake? Four or five years ago, when I walked down the halls of Downton, I saw home, my family, and my world. Now, after meeting you, I still think of it that way, but not completely. I also see wastefulness, and ridiculous tradition that binds the upper class to the past. Still, I am an independent enough woman to say that I will never credit you completely with that change – I like to think that part of it was simply who I am, and I also believe that Isobel deserves a lot of credit for helping me to look outside of the traditional boundaries. Yet I'm also willing to admit that all of our talks, our conversations, our fights, have helped shape and refine my ideas and opinions as well."

Tom's eyebrows raised slightly at this, though he nodded his agreement.

"What you need is someone to talk with. Someone who respects you enough to allow you to pick a fight, and give it your best, knowing that you may never agree. Someone who sees the world from a different perspective as you, who can see the benefits and disadvantages of different arguments. Someone who respects you for your own insights, but does not simply acquiesce to them."

"And that's not to be you?"

Sybil shook her head. "No. We can fight and debate all day, if you like, but the trouble is that I'm not who you're going to be writing for. When you find work as a journalist, your audience is going to be largely middle class people, I expect. And most of them will likely be male."

"You read the papers."

Sybil sighed. "But I'm not the normal woman, as you full well should know," she said with a little hint of teasing in her voice.

"For which I am very thankful," Tom responded quickly.

"And," Sybil continued, "You're not going to be hired by a woman. The people you need to impress, I think, are people like Matthew. Well educated, well read, from a middle class upbringing, who come from a large city."

Sybil watched Tom carefully, nearly squinting, as if it would help her to read his thoughts better.

Finally, Tom spoke, a bit reluctantly. "Do you think he would feel obligated?"

_Good._ "No," Sybil responded firmly, her hands tapping Tom's chest for emphasis. "But you should ask him first, of course. I cannot imagine him refusing you, but you should give him the chance."

Tom gave a small nod. "Right."

"He will say yes, I think. Matthew does like you."

One of Tom's eyebrows rose at this. "How do you know?"

Sybil smiled. "Matthew is kind. He likes most people."

"That's not exactly reassuring."

Sybil reached up then, to push back a bit of Tom's fringe that had fallen onto his forehead. "He is kind. And yet, in the years I've known him, I've never seen him quite so relaxed with another man as he was today, with you in the motor."

This brought a genuine smile to Tom's face.

"In fact, perhaps I shouldn't encourage you to spend too much time with him. You might end up finding him a better companion than I am," she teased.

At this Tom's grip on her tightened. "No one will, ever, _ever,_ take your place, love," he growled, his voice low.

Sybil giggled. "I suppose I rather so have some assets that he's lacking."

At this Tom laughed and dropped his hands to her bottom to squeeze again. "Very true."

"Tom!" Sybil scolded, laughing at his pun.

Tom grinned. "I suppose I'll do it. But only on one condition."

_On my, _Sybil thought. _He's got that look on his face again…the one I find so terribly hard to resist. _"Yes?"

"I think you should remind yourself of my _ass_ets as well," he joked.

Sybil flushed. _Oh my. So he wants me too…._ Suddenly a wicked grin crept onto her face. Reaching behind her, to the dish basin that was still within her reach, she dipped her hands in the water, and then quickly reached around to give Tom's bottom a rather quick, if firm, grip.

"Hey!" he yelped. "You just got my trousers wet!"

Sybil laughed. "I was just doing what you asked," she teased coquettishly

Suddenly a wicked grin spread across Tom's face. "Well," he began, a devilishly light in his eye, "I suppose that since you were so swift in keeping your part of the bargain that I should get to work as well. I'll just go upstairs right now and speak with Matthew," he said, swiftly stepping back from Sybil and turning towards the kitchen door, "I'm sure that Edith and Cousin Isobel won't mind if I join them in the drawing room…."

Sybil, though, only heard half of what he was saying as her eyes lowered to the seat of Tom's pants, which now bore two distinct, wet handprints.

"I'll just…."

"Tom!" Sybil called out, her face flooding bright with color. "You can't go up there yet!"

In another moment they were both shrieking with laughter, Sybil chasing Tom down the corridor.

* * *

_Next up - some sister time._

_Happy Easter!_


	31. Morning Surprises

_I apologize that this fic took so long to post. I've written about four versions of it, and it took me awhile for everything to click into place._

_While organization has been a problem for me, ideas certainly have not. I'm starting to think that if Liverpool was about ten segments long, Manchester may be twenty! Edith and Matthew keep screaming for my attention, in addition to Sybil and Tom. I must say that I'm really playing fast and loose with Edith in this one. She's really coming out of her shell quickly, and shocking me a bit! Anyway, I'm really loving this braver, saucier Edith, and I hope you will too!_

* * *

Sybil's eyelids fluttered open. She blinked rapidly, her mind still fuzzy from sleep.

_White sheets. A clock there, where I'm not used to seeing one._

Her eyes opened a little more widely. _That's right. We're in Manchester, and Edith's next to me, and Tom and Matthew are in the next room…._

Suddenly she saw it. Red, atop a thin green stem bearing two leaves.

_A rose. For me to wear. Just like I did when we were in Liverpool._

She smiled then, and shifted her hands slightly, bringing her arms out to stretch.

Suddenly it occurred to her that a rose in her room meant that Tom had been in her room. Their room – hers and Edith's.

A wave of warmth flooded through her, followed by a jolt of panic. _Holy shit!_, she thought, suddenly rolling over and looking anxiously for her sister. _It's a good thing he didn't wake Edith, because God know what she would have done, if she'd opened her eyes to find Tom coming in! _

If she hadn't been so panicked, the thought probably would have made her laugh. It was a rather funny picture….Tom sneaking into their room to find the Crawley sister he wanted dead asleep while the other woke in panic.

Much to Sybil's relief, all she saw on the other side of their bed were white sheets. _Which must mean that she's left to wash up, then. Surely she can't have awoken to find him here and stayed quiet. Unless she threw him out and went straight to Isobel…._Sybil thought, her panic building.

_No,_ she tried to still herself. _No. There's no way that Tom would have let that happen, without waking me. _ Her eyes closed then, and she breathed out.

Her smile began to return then, warming her lips. _Only Tom. Only Tom would do this, something so cheeky, and absolutely refuse to apologize for it, believing quite simply that it was his right to come in and bring me a rose, despite the fact that I was still in bed, in my nightclothes. Only my dear, daft, adorable Tom would ever try… _

One of her hands came up her lips then. _I wonder if he'd have woken me with a kiss, if I'd been by myself. If we were by ourselves. If it was just the two of us, in the morning, and…_

"Mmmmm," she sighed softly, her mind drifting to the sorts of wake ups that she might enjoy someday upon becoming Mrs. Branson.

Her body warming from the inside out, Sybil stretched luxuriously forward. She yawned loudly, the sound and her own pleasant thoughts distracting her and masking the quiet turning of the doorknob.

Sybil's eyes flew up to see Edith walking back into their room. She was wearing a silken dressing gown, wrapped tightly around her and tied with a matching belt.

"Good morning," she said quietly, stepping into the room and closing the door quietly behind her.

"Good morning," Sybil said, willing herself to not sound disappointed. _Not that he should be coming in here at all, of course. Isobel would probably be furious if she knew that he'd already snuck in once, to deliver that rose,_ she thought.

"Did you sleep well?" Sybil asked Edith, watching her as she walked over to the wardrobe and opened one of its doors.

Edith grinned into the wardrobe. "You did," she responded, her tone just lightly shaded with cheek.

One of Sybil's eyebrows rose. "Pardon me?"

Edith shook her head slightly and turn away from the wardrobe to smile at her sister, her arms crossed over her chest for warmth, as there was no one to come and light a fire in the small fireplace for them this morning. "I could barely wake you up to roll you back onto your side of the bed. You kept rolling over and trying to sidle up next to me. At one point you had your arm around me."

Sybil flushed bright red. _Oh my. I must have thought that I was sleeping with Tom._

Edith smirked. "I can only imagine what you must have been dreaming about."

Sybil coughed slightly.

This brought a giggle from her sister. She brought up a hand to her mouth to shield it slightly, looking like a schoolgirl who had a secret. "I must confess that it was rather odd, but then again I suppose neither of us has shared a bed with anyone else since we were in the nursery, years ago…." Edith said, one eyebrow slightly raised.

_Pick out a blouse. Stop talking now and pick out a blouse,_ Sybil willed her sister. Her own eyes were now focused firmly on the duvet in front of her as she suffered a moment of intense discomfort. _There is no way she knows. She can't suspect. If she thought…..I don't quite know what she would say, or even do. I don't know that she'd tell anyone, but I can see her confronting Tom, or…._

"Right," Sybil squeaked, hoping she sounded nonchalant.

_Movement. I should get up. Anything to stop my mind..._ Suddenly Sybil was all arms and legs, scrambling across to Edith's side of the bed, which was furthest from the wardrobe, where her sister had turned back to her blouses. She shuffled out of the bed a bit awkwardly, and upon landing her feet on the cool rug, began to pull and tug at the bedclothes with exaggerated force.

"If you wait a moment I'll give you a hand with that," Edith said, turning her gaze coming out of the wardrobe then as she selected a blouse and pulled it out, draping it over the nearby dressing table chair. "And then you can give me a hand with my corset, if you don't mind, so I can dress."

"Of course," Sybil said, hoping her voice sounded calm, though her insides were doing a dance.

Suddenly she heard a noise, then, on the other side of the wall. In an instant her eyes were on it, her mind trying to conjure up a picture of the two men on the other side. _I wonder if they're dressed. _A funny picture then of Tom and Matthew sitting on their beds like two schoolboys filled her mind then, and she nearly giggled. _I wonder what Matthew looks like in his pyjamas. I bet he's not half as handsome as Tom, with his hair all tussled and his cheeks pink from sleep. God, he's adorable when he's sleeping._

"I could hear Matthew and Tom speaking in their room this morning when I went out," Edith informed Sybil, coming to stand over next to the bed, her hands reaching for the linens. "I think you were the last to wake, unless Isobel's still asleep," she said.

Sybil gripped the sheets and pulled with her sister. _She sounds as though she's not seen him. Which means he must have come in when I was still sleeping, but she was out. Oh, why didn't he kiss me? Why didn't he awaken me? I cannot think of a better way to greet the day, staring into those blue eyes. _She couldn't help conjuring up the scene as it must have been as she and Edith tucked the sheets into place. Both had grown used to making beds during Downton's time as a convalescent home, so it took them only a few brief moments to right the crisp covers.

"You could have woken me before you went to wash," Sybil said, trying to keep her tone even.

"And ruin those lovely dreams you were having? You had quite the smile on your face," Edith teased.

Sybil flushed again at this, though somewhat less dramatically this time. _I wonder if I was dreaming about him. I don't remember, but I suppose I must have been. _

Suddenly a laugh came through the wall then, and both girls turned to look at it. "They sound as though they're certainly getting on," Edith said.

"They seemed a pair yesterday in the car," Sybil agreed, rolling her eyes.

Edith laughed. "They did," she agreed. "I can't imagine growing up like Matthew did, with no siblings. I know that we probably all wished that we had been only children at one time or another, but even for all Mary and I fight, we did have a good time, growing up," she said, a nostalgic light in her eye.

Memories of the days that she and her sisters once spent in the nursery together flooded Sybil's mind then. Tea parties on a tiny white table in the yard, after dinner snacks in the servant's hall with the aid of Mr. Carson. Warm bedtime stories before the fire of the nursery, when their mother would come in to see them before dinner, and the occasional uncensored pillow fight in the nursery when Nanny had stepped out for something after cautioning them, in vain, to be good little ladies while she was gone.

Sybil felt her fingers start to reach down then, and in another moment she was gripping a white pillow in her hand. A mischievous glint in her eye, she threw it suddenly across the bed at Edith, who was turning back to the wardrobe, her hands reaching to untie the belt on her dressing gown.

"Eek!" she squeaked, as the white missile took her completely unexpectedly.

Brown eyes flashed up to meet blue gray, grinning wickedly, cheeks flushed. "Sybil!" Edith sputtered, looking around wildly for her own weapon. Quickly retying her dressing gown she reached down and picked up the pillow Sybil had just lobbed at her.

Before she could stand up, though, another pillow hit her square on the head. A giggle sounded from the other side of the bed, where Sybil was now crouching down in an attempt to hide herself.

"You're awful!" Edith cried out. "You're about to be a married woman, and yet you start pillow fights like a child!" she lectured as she quickly flew around the bed in the attempt to bonk Sybil on the head with the pillow she was holding.

Sybil laughed now, her hands coming up to shield herself. She was too late though, and Edith found her target. "You're older than me, though! And you're just as bad!" she retorted, trying to wrest the pillow from Edith's hands.

In another moment the sisters were laughing so hard that Sybil found herself losing her balance and toppling onto the bed, dragging Edith with her. The two girls continued to fight playfully, hitting each other with pillows and, when all else failed, tickling each other violently, their limbs a tangle in the duvet and their nightclothes.

"It doesn't sound as though you need to be woken," said a motherly voice from the doorway.

Both sisters turned, still laughing, to see Isobel standing in front of the door to their room, a smile on her face.

"Sybil just…." Edith panted.

"We were… reliving our nursery days," Sybil gasped beside her.

Edith moved to sit up, unwinding one of her legs from where it had caught in Sybil's nightgown. "I don't know if you can trust the two of us, in one room together," she said, a grin on her face.

Isobel smiled back. "It looks to me like you're doing quite well just as you are. I'm going to go downstairs and make some tea. When you're both dressed, you can join me and we can start on breakfast," she said.

"We'll be just a few minutes," Sybil replied.

"Right," Edith agreed.

"Very good." Isobel turned to close the door then, the latch catching softly as it slid back into place.

Just then a knock sounded at the wall. "It sounds dangerous over there!" an English voice called out.

Sybil laughed loudly. "Shall we go invade?" she whispered in a conspiratory tone to Edith. "I bet they'd have such fun!"

Edith's eyes widened. "But we're not dressed! We couldn't?!"

"Spoil sport," Sybil replied, giving her sister a wicked grin.

Edith's mouth dropped open slightly. "You wouldn't…" she began incredulously.

Sybil shrugged her shoulders. _If Isobel wasn't in the house…_

"You mean to tell me that you'd go over there, in your nightgown, and…" she trailed off, still obviously gobsmacked by her sister's teasing.

"Perhaps!" Sybil teased, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

Edith's head shook. "Good Lord. I never thought I would see the day when my little sister would be such a tease! And you pretend to be the serious one!"

Sybil giggled guiltily. "Surely you don't think Tom and I are always serious. I know he comes off a bit arrogant sometimes, but he can be ever so much fun."

Edith's eyebrows lifted. "I don't doubt that," she responded wryly, her eyes rolling and coming to rest on Sybil's bedside table. Her eyes widened. "That wasn't here this morning when I left the room," she said, the thought springing from her lips unbidden. "Good God! Of course you don't mind going next door! Tom's already seen you in your nightclothes!" she squeaked.

_That ship sailed quite awhile ago, I'm afraid. _Sybil flushed and moved to get up off the bed, going over to stand next to Edith.

"Don't get into such a fuss. He didn't even wake me up when he brought it in. You must have been in the bath," she said, finally figuring out the timeline of Tom's foray into the sisters sleeping quarters.

"And I suppose it's supposed to reassure me that he's obviously skilled at sneaking into a bedroom undetected?" Edith protested, her voice rising slightly. "Your bedroom?"

Sybil, now quite red, waved a hand in the air dismissively. "There's been none of that. Tom would never sneak into my room,"she explained, reminding herself that this was technically true. _Now if you ask about the other way, that might be a different case, of course,_ she added to herself. Suddenly she remembered the servants ball, and Tom's cheeky comment about the location of her room. _At least he's not done it…. yet. I don't think even he would dare, given what would happen if anyone found us. Then again I suppose I could be wrong…_

Edith, though, was not done. "You went to Liverpool together. I don't suppose he – "

Sybil shook her head. "Absolutely not. I stayed with Susan and James, and he stayed with his brother. Really, Edith. You talk as though we're completely free with our affections," Sybil sputtered, trying desperately to figure out how to steer the conversation another direction. "He did bring me roses in Liverpool, but if you must know, he gave them to me in Susan and James' front hall, when he came to retrieve me for an evening out."

Edith's lips pressed together then, the beginning of a smile starting to form on her lips. "Did you wear them?"

Sybil nodded, sensing the conversation might be lightening slightly. "I did. Tucked in my hair, both that night and the next."

"You always did love making daisy crowns for us, when we were little," Edith reminisced as she turned back to the blouse she'd abandoned earlier on the dressing table chair.

"Here, let me help," Sybil said as Edith reached to remove her dressing gown.

Edith raised her arms slightly as Sybil helped fit her corset around her. "You really should get one that hooks in the front," she said. "They're far easier to put on."

Edith cocked her head to the side as her sister began to pull her laces tight in the back. "You wear one like that, I presume?"

Sybil nodded. "You can look at mine, if you like. I bought it when I started nursing. Anna certainly wasn't going to be accompanying me to York," she said dryly.

One of Edith's eyebrows shot up. "And I suppose that if Tom's going to be doing something with your clothing, he's much more likely to be trying to remove it than put it on you."

Sybil's jaw dropped open and her eyes were suddenly the size of saucers. "I can't believe you just said that!" she sputtered, Edith's laces going slack in her hands.

Edith giggled, obviously pleased at her ability to shock her sister. "Oh, don't tell me you haven't thought about such a thing," she teased.

Sybil shook her head in disbelief as she felt her face flood dark red. "I – I –" She pulled then suddenly, giving Edith a sharp tug.

"Ow! Just because I said that doesn't mean you have to cut off my air!" Edith panted, feeling her corset tighten significantly. "Apparently that hit a nerve!"

"You're terrible!' Sybil fumed, her mind clouding with images of Tom's hands sliding over her skin, a bit like they had in his cottage, two nights before. The image wasn't new, of course, but the fact that her sister would refer to such a thing – that was what she found so shocking!

Edith rolled her eyes. "You know you must have thought about it. The way you were looking at him last night in the kitchen, I think you could have devoured him on the kitchen table, right then and there…."

_Knock knock._

Sybil's wide eyes flew to the door. _Oh God, please don't let that be Isobel! If she heard any of that, we're in trouble!_

Her lacings now tied, Edith reached for her blouse and quickly slid it on, followed by a skirt. Pulling it up over her chemise, she nimbly hooked the waistband.

"Are you ladies ready to come down for breakfast? Cousin Isobel and Matthew are already downstairs" an Irish voice said through the door.

"Speak of the devil…"Edith began, a wicked grin on her face as she pulled on a stocking.

"Hush!" Sybil scolded her sister. "We'll just be a moment. Edith's just finishing dressing, and I – "

"And Sybil's still in her nightgown," Edith sang out.

Sybil could hear Tom clear his throat.. "Ah. Well, then."

"Which means that you're of course welcome to open the door, as you've already seen her once that way this morning," Edith intoned naughtily.

Sybil turned toward the bed again, a smile forming on her lips as she reached for the nearest pillow. _Just one more hit. She's so busy with her stockings that she'll never see me…._

It would have worked quite perfectly, had Sybil not underestimated the daring of her fiancé, and her own ears, which for a third time missed the silent turning of the doorknob. So intent was she that she never even saw Tom until the pillow was already making contact with his face as Edith ducked down between them, her laughter ringing out merrily.

* * *

_So – should I give Edith a love interest for Sybil to tease her about? _


	32. Equals

_Just a quick note - the library I reference in this story is Chetham's Library. I took a bit of artistic license with describing it, as I've never been in it myself, but this is how I imagined it might have been, about the time Sybil and Tom would have visited it. It is a place where Marx and Engels met, though it is certainly not the only one, as the two worked together on projects for years. _

_Also, thank you again to all of you who keep reading this story, commenting, and sharing your ideas with me! I'm hoping to incorporate many of them in the next few chapters. We'll be getting back to Tom and Matthew in a couple of chapters, but first, some much needed Sybil and Tom time!_

_And if you're looking for some more Tom and Sybil travel fun, check out the Yankee Countess' wonder fic Love's Journey. She taking Tom and Sybil to London, where they have some fantastic adventures._

* * *

"Run!" Tom reached out and grasped Sybil's hand tightly, pulling her behind him as his feet began to quicken. He looked back at her, grinning over his shoulder, as he watched her mouth continue to gape open in shock at the sudden torrents flooding down from the sky. She squealed loudly and stumbled after him, their feet splashing into newly forming puddles as they ran down the quickly emptying sidewalks.

"Over here!" he called, tucking them into a small doorway under the shelter of an awning. She laughed as they both stopped, each gasping for breath, droplets of water running off of the bottoms of their coats.

"I don't know if I've ever seen a shower come up that sudden!" she gasped, bringing a hand up to check her hat, which was drooping a bit.

Tom grinned and turned his head slightly to watch her, his eyes shining. _God, she's even beautiful soaking wet in a rainstorm. If we weren't in the middle of a crowded street,_ he thought, looking around quickly to see if there was anyone nearby.

The streets, though, were nearly empty, save for a milk wagon sitting near the corner, many yards away. _Good!_ Tom thought, turning back to Sybil then and ducking ever so slightly to kiss her.

"Mmm!" Sybil moaned against his lips, taken aback by Tom's sudden display of affection. In a second her back was up against the wall, and she was pulling on Tom's coat, bringing him closer to her.

_Holy God she's good at this! _Tom thought for what seemed to be the millionth time. He leaned into the kiss, ignoring the squishing sound they made when their wet clothes pressed together.

He could feel Sybil's lips grin against his. Finally she broke the kiss, though her hands refused to give him any space. They were tucked under his jacket, next to the warmth of his body. "We should get caught in rainstorms more often!" she teased playfully, her eyes darting from Tom's eyes to his lips and then back again.

Tom's eyes closed for a moment and his head shook from side to side. "You won't be saying that after we're in Dublin, love. You'll be caught in more rainstorms then you could ever imagine there," he warned.

"I don't know. I rather think I like getting wet with you," Sybil teased.

"Getting caught in the rain on the way somewhere in the morning is the worst," he said, trying not to let his mind – and for that matter the rest of him – linger on the comment that she'd just made. _Getting wet with – No. _ "You spend the rest of the day smelling like wet wool, and waiting to dry out."

"Experience speaking?" she said, reaching up a hand to wipe his forehead dry, where water droplets threatened to drip into his eyes.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Yes. I can't tell you how many mornings I spent at school waiting for my clothes to dry."

"I would think that drying out at home after a long day could be rather fun…." Sybil said, her eyes darkening a bit, and her hands drifting slightly lower down Tom's back, still safely out of sight under his jacket. "Peeling off all of those wet layers, and wrapping up in a blanket before the fire."

A slight hiss escaped Tom's lips as his forehead tipped forward to press against hers as her hands found his backside and squeezed. "We need to get married," he growled against her skin.

"Yes we do," Sybil agreed quietly, the urgency in her voice nearly as strong as his.

One of his hands came up to her neck then, his thumb reaching out to caress her cheek. Sybil tilted her head obligingly back, ready and eager to welcome another kiss, when they suddenly both heard footsteps coming quite near.

"Oh!" Sybil said, nearly jumping as a face turned to stare at both of them. Tom's head popped up, a curse word on his lips as he too turned to stare at an older man who was giving them a rather disgusted frown.

"That's not what the likes of my doorway is for!" he scolded. "Now get on your way, or come in and buy something. But don't stand there and make love to the lady like you're at home in your bedroom!" he said angrily.

Tom's face flushed dark. _Old bastard. What right does he have to – _He glanced at Sybil, who looked suddenly anxious. He felt her reach for her hands and tug on them then, as if willing him to stay silent.

"I don't suppose you would have an umbrella, please?" she asked politely, her voice a little anxious. She squeezed his hand tightly, pulling him into the store behind her as the man said nothing, but held the door open for them to enter.

It was a small shop, dark in the afternoon rain, the murky interior broken up by two gas lights that the man reached up to turn on. "In the corner," he said gruffly, nodding to the end of the long counter, which was topped by a slightly dusty glass domed case.

"Thank you," Sybil replied respectfully, her left hand dropping into her pocket while her right still held Tom's. "And we'll take two of the sarsaparilla sticks too," she added, the candy counter having caught her eye.

Tom's right hand moved automatically to his own pocket, but he was too slow, as Sybil was already extracting her small purse. Dropping his hand from her own, she stepped up to the counter and purchased the umbrella and the candy sticks, which she asked the man to wrap in a paper, please. The man took her money and did as she said, though he shot Tom a dirty look as he tied the paper with string.

Tom's face flushed slightly, and he was glad when Sybil was standing beside him again, her hand tugging on his. "Now you take this, and we'll save the sweets for later," she said, coaxing a smile from him as they walked back out the door.

Tom took the umbrella from her as they both stood in the doorway, leaning out into the sidewalk slightly to open it.

"You didn't have to buy that," he said quietly, a little mad at himself for letting her do it.

Sybil gave him an irritated look. "It wasn't meant to be a slight on you," she said quickly. "Besides, I'm just putting my marketing skills from this morning into practice," she explained.

Tom pressed his lips together, willing his stomach to stop knotting. _I wonder if I'll ever stop feeling poor around her, _he thought.

"Besides," she said, looking down at the small brown parcel in her hand. "You bought me something sweet this morning, and now I've just done the same for you," she said, a small smile on her face.

"Right," Tom said. Wresting his eyes from her, he nodded towards the street. "Shall we?" he asked.

Sybil reached to take his arm, tucking herself close to his side. "Yes, but you must hold it over both of us. None of this nonsense of using it only for me," she cautioned, referring to how Tom would hold the umbrella when he would retrieve her or one of her sisters out of the motor when they were at Downton."

"Of course, milady," Tom said, his tone a little lighter.

"Tom," Sybil moaned, poking her elbow into his side. "Really."

"Shall I let you carry it to?" he said cheekily as they stepped out onto the sidewalk together.

Sybil looked up at him and grinned, tightening her grip on Tom even more, if that were possible. "And risk being knocked on the head again?" she teased. "I was so mortified when I realized it was you that I'd hit in the face this morning! You should have heard Edith though, the things she said about us! I never knew my sister had it in her! She was really going on about how you and I –" Sybil cut herself off then suddenly, not sure how much she should tell.

"How you and I what, love?" Tom asked, a smile spreading on his face at the thought that Sybil had spent her morning being teased about him by her sister.

Sybil flushed. "About you and I – and – " she sputtered.

"About what I'd have likely done to you, if she'd not been there? How I'd have fought back, until I had you pinned down on the bed, and then I'd have kissed you senseless until you let me…"

"Mmmm!" Sybil groaned loudly. "You're right. We really_ do_ need to get married."

By the time they made it to their destination, the rain had let up ever so slightly, the downpour having settled into a steady drumbeat of drops. They were both soaked though, as the umbrella was only really large enough for one person, and Sybil, loathe to have Tom treat her as a 'lady', insisted that he hold it equally over both of them, leaving one of their arms each to soak in the wet.

They'd walked quickly, buoyed on by their pleasure at being so close to one another out in a public place. They'd broken into the sarsaparilla sticks about halfway to the library, Tom crunching his quickly while Sybil, in a terribly mischievous mood, announced that instead she intended to lick hers only, thereby causing Tom a great deal of consternation as she kept sticking out her little pink tongue for another swipe, most of which were accompanied by a giggle, leaving him with a death grip on the handle of the umbrella and a slightly uneven gait.

He finally ended up snatching it out of her hand when they reached the umbrella, telling her that it she didn't stop soon they'd be stopping at a register's office on the way back to Isobel's, consequences be damned. He ate the rest of it quickly while Sybil laughed, looking quite pleased with herself at the power she seemed to have to drive Tom mad by doing nothing more than eating a candy stick.

They both calmed down slightly as they walked into the dark entrance of the library. "It's almost like a church," Sybil said, looking at the dark wainscoting and the colored windows up high overhead.

Tom laughed softly. "I think Marx might have just turned over in his grave now," he joked.

Sybil made a slight face. "I can read Marx but still believe in God, can't I?" she retorted. "I can think for myself, you know."

Tom turned to give her a tiny kiss on the end of her nose. "For which I am eternally grateful, love," he whispered, himself a little overwhelmed by the overpowering presence the building seemed to have.

The two walked quietly past the front desk, where a middle-aged woman sat writing in a large ledger, a stack of books beside her, carefully recording the title of each book. She looked up as they walked past, both of them big eyed, Sybil's hand firmly tucked into Tom's arm. Their wet shoes squeaked slightly on the smooth floors, and Tom winced involuntarily.

"Do we need to sign in?" Sybil asked the woman.

The woman nodded to a large book on the desk. "Yes, please. Your names, and your address, if you wish to take out any books."

Sybil smiled as she watched Tom step up to the desk and grasp the pen in his hand. _Mr. Tom Branson,_ he wrote, a name she had seen scrolled on another library ledger many times over the years.

When he was done he turned and handed her the ink pen. Dipping it into the jar of ink that sat nearby, Sybil wrote her own name – _Miss. Sybil Crawley – _on the ledger next to Tom's.

He turned to give her an odd look.

"I don't think Marx would approve," she said quietly, just loud enough for Tom to hear.

He bit back a laugh, glancing guiltily to the woman at the desk, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "You're welcome to go into the reading room. There are stacks on this floor and the next. There are stairs to the upper galleries inside," she explained nodding slightly towards the large wooden doors in front of them.

"Thank you," Tom said, doffing his hat slightly to the woman as they turned to enter the space.

Two sets of eyes rose as Tom pushed open the door for them to step inside. The room was beautiful, dark, majestic. Even Sybil, so used to her father's beautiful library at home, seemed impressed.

Tom's own eyes rose up to the ceiling, which was plastered with a delicate Elizabethan pattern. _I know I'm not supposed to approve of such elegance,_ he thought dryly, wondering if Marx would be rolling over in his grave for him then too. _But it really is lovely. And to think that it's always been free, for anyone to use._

This brought a smile to his lips.

"It's lovely," Sybil said softly, her eyes roaming around the room, trying to bring it all in. "If we lived here I fear I would waste many hours here, tucked up somewhere in an alcove reading," she said.

"Education is never a waste," Tom corrected her softly, his head swivling back and forth. "Never."

Sybil gave his arm a squeeze. "You're right, of course," she said, smiling at him.

They both stood quietly for a moment, neither speaking. Finally something caught Sybil's eye and she took a step forward, her hand tugging at Tom's arm gently, beckoning him to follow.

They walked quietly through the stacks together to the far end, where a faint light bled in through a large window. Two desk lamps sat on a large reading table, where a pile of books sat, ready for reshelving.

Sybil pulled her hand out of Tom's arm then, and began to sort through the books on the table, reading each title to herself, her lips moving but no sound coming out.

_She handles them like they are precious gold,_ he thought, wonder etched in every inch of her face. _She can wear the most beautiful gown and not think much of it, yet she touches those books as if they hold some sort of secret._ He stood silently, his hands drifting into his pockets, not wanting to say anything and break the moment.

Finally Sybil turned and gave Tom a questioning smile. "Do you have any idea what he read, when he was here?"

Tom shook his head. "Something on economic theory, I believe. I don't know any specific titles, though."

"It would be fun to try to find his name in the ledger," Sybil said, grinning. "Though I'm sure those ledgers were probably shelved away somewhere long ago." She paused, her hands continuing their work. "Marx was the visitor though, right? Engels lived here, in Manchester."

Tom nodded. "He did, for awhile. He worked in a factory."

"But he was German by birth, like Marx," Sybil stated, her tone asking for confirmation.

"Yes. He lived here for some time, though."

Sybil looked back down at the book in her hand, and then back up at Tom, the lamplight behind her lighting her profile. "Did he ever marry?"

Tom stepped closer to her, one of his hands coming out of his pocket to hover just behind her waist. "No," he began softly. "He said that he believed marriage that was regulated by the church to be a form of class oppression," he explained, wondering at what Sybil's reaction might be to this.

"Did he live with a woman then?"

_She looks almost like she's glowing. It's almost as if she has a halo around her, like in the stained glass windows of a cathedral,_ he thought.

"Yes," Tom said, his voice breaking slightly. "For many years."

"Ah," Sybil said, leaving Tom to wonder at she might be thinking. She turned to give him an inquisitive look. "So you disagree with Mr. Engels then on a few things too," she teased.

Tom grinned. "I suppose I'm a bit of a traditionalist myself, at times," he confessed.

Sybil grinned at this. Turning a careful eye this way and that, she leaned over and kissed him quickly. "Good. Because I am rather glad that you want to marry me."

_I'd do it today, if you wanted,_ Tom thought, his heart swelling with love for the woman before him who knew him so well, and could tease him at will, knowing just the balance of cheek and tenderness that he liked best.

"Isn't there a story about a bench where they spoke?" she asked, stepping back slightly and looking around.

Tom nodded. "A window seat, I believe," he clarified.

"Are you allowed to sit in it now?" she said "Or is it behind a rope?"

Replacing the books on the table, Sybil reached out to take Tom's hand then, pulling him into motion again. The two walked slowly away from the table and to the next window, making a slow circumference of the room.

Near the eighth window they came to, something caught Sybil's eye. "I think it must have been here," she said, Tom stopping just behind her, close enough that her skirts brushed his pant leg.

"Why do you say that?" Tom questioned.

Sybil turned to look behind her. "That sign over there says Economics. It makes sense that they would have met here, then."

"I suppose," Tom said, his eyes turning back to the bench. _To think that here…_

"It's interesting to think, isn't it? That they were where we are standing?"

Tom swallowed and nodded. "It is," he said softly.

"Do you think they were right? That society will evolve into socialism eventually?"

"I don't know," Tom answered quietly. "I would like to think that the world will even out more, and that everyone will someday have a chance to become something, whatever they like."

"And will we all be happy then?" she responded quietly.

To hands moved to settle on her waist then, squeezing slightly. "We're happy, as we're making ourselves into things new," he said, not quite sure if this was the proof she wanted, but feeling instinctively that the answer was right, for him at least.

"Putting our classes aside, and moving forward," she said softly. "Starting over again, equals, as we wish."

Somewhere, out of the empty space, a memory came floating back. An American woman living in England stepping before him into the motor. _"Branson, you'll be taking Lady Sybil to Ripon tomorrow."_

A lifetime ago, it seemed sometimes. And yet it had only been a few short years.

_Things do change. Life does even out. A lady falls in love with her chauffeur, and walks away from her entire world with no look backwards, simply for the love of him._

Tom felt his heart swell pride. Reaching out to take one of her hands, he brought it to his lips and kissed it softly. "We will be happy. I promise you that."

Blue gray eyes smiled back at him. "I know."

* * *

_Up next - some fun at dinner, followed by some serious questions about Ireland._


	33. A Lesson At Dinner

_A moment of pure craziness, for everyone who needs a laugh tonight. I had originally intended to put this scene and the next together in one chapter, but as one is rather cheeky, and the other much more serious, I decided to split them. I think this might border on what some call crackfic…._

* * *

"So was this what it was like, family dinners when you were a child, I mean?" Edith asked Tom, a look of curiosity on her face.

Tom breathed in and tried not to laugh. Even here, in Mrs. Crawley's solid middle class house, there was china, albeit more solid then what they had at Downtown, and silver on the table.

Tom shrugged his shoulders slightly, and tried to picture Edith at his mother's table. It wasn't impossible, though rather improbable. _ I suppose it could happen, if she ever came to visit, and Mam insisted on having us all at her house._

His fingers reached for his glass, which he tapped on the side softly, the sound absorbed by the small bit of wine still in the bottom of it. "Well, it was never this quiet, of course, with all of us. We'd behave pretty well when Mam was at the table of course, but when she turned her back…."

Tom turned towards the doorway behind Isobel then, as if he were seeing his mother. Edith and Sybil both followed his gaze, while Matthew reached into his lap for his napkin and Isobel watched the candles burn on the table.

He wasn't quite sure what made him do it – maybe the fact that he felt terribly relaxed tonight, after the lovely afternoon with Sybil. It could have been the two glasses of wine that he had already finished. Or maybe it was just his unadulterated joy that they were only two days into their trip, and all five of them seemed to be getting on quite well.

Whatever it was, he did it, and so when Sybil turned back to look at Tom again, she started laughing quite suddenly and quite loudly.

He sat silently, willing himself to be still, though his lips twitched into a cheeky grin.

"Tom! Good grief! How in heaven's name did you?..."

Edith started to laugh then too, at her future brother-in-law, who sat across the table from them, looking rather pleased with himself, a spoon hanging off the end of his nose.

"What?" he asked, the spoon falling off as he started to talk. "You've never seen that before? Kieran taught us all, growing up, though of course Mam would have our heads if she ever caught us doing it, at the table. It's really not that hard….anyone can…." He started to explain impishly.

Sybil only gasped louder, though, when she wrested her eyes from his grinning, ridiculous face to look at her two cousins, who had decided to join in on the fun by donning their own silver ornaments.

Both she and Edith were giggling terribly hard now, joined by Tom and then Edith and Matthew, who both lost the composure and dropped their spoons at almost the exact same instance.

"That's – how do you do that?" Sybil asked again, around her laughter. She grasped her own spoon in her hand, and then turned to steal Tom's, to compare the two to see if she could find any differences. "See," she said, turning to her sister. "See, I told you we missed out on all the fun. Can you imagine Nanny, or our governesses, ever letting us do such a thing?"

Edith shook her head, still giggling. "Right Sybil, yes. We had a deprived childhood because we didn't to hang spoons from our faces," she protested.

Tom laughed again, nearly snorting.

Sybil crossed her arms defiantly, suddenly seeming very much like the little sister to Edith's elder.

"We did survive, you know," Edith continued to protest.

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Yes. But we could have had more fun."

"You did have pillow fights. Or at least I presume that's what you were squealing over this morning," Matthew added helpfully.

Tom snuck a guilty grin at his fiancée then. "Watch this," he said. Standing up a bit, he reached across the table and picked up Edith's spoon only to blow on it, and attempt to hang it on his future sister-in-law's nose.

"What the?" she began, blinking rapidly and looking quite startled at Tom's sudden familiarity. "Good God, Tom!" she exclaimed, as it hanged for half a second and then fell, clanging onto her plate, causing Isobel to snicker again.

"So you have to blow on it first?" Sybil asked, clearly interested in trying to decipher the particular technique needed to join in the fun.

Tom smirked and reached to pick up his own. "You just blow on it, and poof!" he said, pulling his own spoon from Sybil's hand, giving it a puff, and then hanging it on his own nose again.

Sybil watched, nodded as if she now understood some something of a terribly serious and important nature, and then reached for her own. "So you…."

"Like this," Edith said, causing everyone to turn back her way, her nose proudly sporting its own silver ornament. She brought her arms out then, and offered the table a pleased, Dowager-worthy, haughty gaze.

Polite applause emanated from the other end of the table then, where Matthew and Isobel looked quite amused.

Blue eyes sparkled. "That's what the footmen do when they don't like someone, you know," Tom deadpanned. "They blow on their spoons and then wear them while they're preparing the table."

Matthew had just reached to take a drink of his after dinner coffee then, and narrowly saved himself from spitting it across the table.

"Ah! There…" Sybil started, just as her spoon slipped.

Isobel laughed again, her hand coming up to support her chin, her elbow firmly on the table. "Sybil, darling, had I known how badly you wanted to learn this, I could have taught you long ago," she teased. "I never knew your education was so lacking in such an important skill."

A white hand gestured in the air. "Oh that's alright. Tom's taught me how to do _all sorts_ of new things," she said matter-of-factly, only blushing once the sentence was quite out of her mouth.

"Oh Lord," Edith said, her eyes rolling.

Matthew choked on his laugh, turning to grin in the direction of the blushing Irishman who was now seated again across the table from him again.

"Right. Well…." Sybil said, now clearly embarrassed and nearly as red as the man who sat next to her. "Now somebody show me how to make this infernal thing stick!"


	34. Really, Truly

_A conversation about what it will _really_ be like. I don't think the conversation would be completely comfortable for either of them, but they would both know that it needed to be had, certainly. I'm creating yet another backstory for the Branson family here, which I suspect will continue to evolve as this fic continues. _

* * *

Sybil turned to look at Tom, who was standing in the doorway, his shoulder rested against it in what could only be described as a very un-Crawley like pose.

_God I'm lucky to have him,_ she thought. _Even at dinner tonight, when we were all acting like complete and utter fools, he was still being Tom. He's just – his personality is there, he's always Tom, no matter where we are, and what we're doing. He refuses to change for anyone. And I love him for it, so much._

A sandy eyebrow arched as Tom watched Sybil. "What?" he said, seemingly amused at the way she was watching him.

Sybil shook her head. "Nothing."

"No it wasn't. You were just thinking something, about me, and I think I have the right to know what it is," he teased, walking towards her, his gait confident, almost a swagger.

_Which will only inflate your ego move, love,_ she thought, a smile playing on her lips as she watched his hips sway slightly. "No you don't. I can tell you no sometimes, you know," she teased, her hands coming behind her back as she rocked up on her toes, like a child.

"But it's much more fun when you don't," he said, coming to stand next to her, his left hand settling on her waist, the right on her cheek. "Much more fun."

Sybil felt her fingers and toes curl as Tom kissed her then, lazy and warm, familiar. _I think I could stand here and do this all night,_ she thought, his warmth beginning to snake into her. _I wonder what everyone would say if they came down and found us still here in the morning, still kissing, having lost all sense of reality._

Her thoughts were curtailed then, as Tom pulled her closer to him, deepening the kiss, his mouth pressing against hers with increasing intensity, his need to taste her deep, insistent. Sybil moaned slightly and let her own hands reach forward to pull at him, tugging at his jacket and his hair, mussing it in the back.

"I think I rather like it when everyone goes up early," she said finally when they pulled reluctantly apart to breathe.

Tom groaned and pulled her into a tight embrace, her head nestled in his neck. "I could kiss you all night," he said.

_And I can only imagine how….and where…._Sybil's mind answered.

"It will be so nice, when we're married, and we don't have to say goodnight," she said, knowing it was rather daring, but also knowing that Tom would love her boldness.

Tom's body moved then, almost involuntarily at the thought. She could feel his frame against hers, tightly coiled. "Amen."

This made Sybil giggle. "Amen? I hint at making love, and you say amen?" she teased. "Or is that normal for Catholics?" she continued, teasing him.

Tom laughed. "I suppose maybe, love. It is a sacrament in the Church. Marriage, at least," he teased.

"Should I expect you to be praying then ….?"

Tom snorted, his hand running up Sybil's back to rub at her shoulders. "I don't know, love. We might call out to God, every now and then, but…"

Sybil was blushing furiously now, and stepped back slightly. "Hmmm. The interesting things I learn from you, Mr. Branson!"

Tom shook his head slightly, watching her as she turned to walk in front of the warm, blazing fire. "That's Professor Branson to you, lass," he responded cheekily. "Perhaps you should have referred to me as such tonight at dinner, as you were telling everyone that I'm your teacher. Or perhaps your instructor in the art of love?"

Sybil laughed at this. "I did rather put my foot in it, didn't I?" she said.

Tom chuckled. "I don't know. I suppose your statement could be interpreted as being innocent…."

"Though I dare say that's hardly how everyone is beginning to see me, these days!" she said, turning back to face Tom again.

"That's all part of the fun, love. Being teased by your family about such things. I dare say that we'll be receiving plenty more of that, when we get to Dublin."

Sybil smiled, just a hint of nerves in her expression. Turning from the fire, she walked over to the divan and settled herself at one end. Patting the cushion next to her, she invited Tom to join her. "Come here. You can at least sit next to me for my lessons, and not tower over me," she teased. "Or is that part of your technique?"

"Yes, but then I'm not as overwhelming – errr, impressive I mean," he jested, walking slowly to the divan.

_Are you sure? _she thought. _You overwhelm me in every way possible, I think. _Also amused, though, Sybil's eyes rolled. "Yes, but I do like equality."

Tom sat down, but on the other end. "Perhaps I can perform a task for milady, then? To show her that I'm not above her?" Reaching a hand down, he grabbed one of Sybil's feet, taking her completely by surprise.

"What?" she asked, as she turned on the divan. "What _are_ you doing?" she asked, as Tom's nimble fingers began to unbutton her boots.

"Allowing myself the pleasure of undressing you," he teased, "and serving you as well."

Sybil felt herself start to get hot inwardly at this. _My God. I know Isobel's upstairs, and Matthew, and Edith, but…_

"Besides, I should think you would like a foot rub, after a long day on your feet, cooking and marketing, and escorting me to the library, in the rain," Tom explained. "I'll expect you'll be wanting lots of these, when we get to Dublin, when you're on your feet all day at the hospital."

A smiled played on Sybil's lips. _Ah, another glimpse into married life. Not as daring as some, I dare say, but enticing none the less. _She watched Tom but said nothing as he removed first one boot and then the next, settling both her feet in his lap before he began to pick up the one and rub it, his thumbs making circles in her arch.

Sybil felt herself relax back then against the arm of the divan in a position that would have appalled her mother and grandmother. She thought back to their dinner conversation, then. Finally, she spoke. "What will it be like Tom, really?"

Dark blue eyes turned upwards to meet hers. His hands slowed slightly, but kept moving, sliding over the smoothness of her stockings.

_Does she really want to know?_ The thought came to Tom unbidden before he could push it away. He instantly began chastising himself for it. _Of course she does, you lout. She's agreed to marry you. She loves you, and will be shouting it to the world, soon, when news comes from Dublin. She's not naive. She knows it will be different…very different. And she has the right to be apprehensive, changing her whole life, as she is. She deserves to know, though. It'll be easier if it's not such a shock. _

"What do you want to know?" he asked quietly, determined to silence the nagging voice in his head the only way he knew how – by speaking words into the air.

"What will it be like? Our flat?"

Tom's eyes broke from Sybil's face to search the room. _Not like this, _he thought. _Not at all like this._

He spoke a moment later. "Not like this, I'm afraid, love. This is the home of a successful middle class doctor, not an Irish would-be journalist."

Sybil shook her head at him disapprovingly. "An Irish journalist. Not a would-be journalist."

Tom rolled his eyes slightly, but let a smile play on his lips. "An Irish journalist then," he conceded, liking the feel of the words on his tongue.

"Will it be like your cottage?" she asked, her tone obviously uncertainty.

_The Earl of Grantham's daughter living in the servant's quarters….or the equivalent of. In her defense, though, that's all she knows of me,_ he thought. _That's the only setting she's only seen me in, so I suppose it would be logical that for her to think that. Though God knows I hope I can give her more._

"We'll likely be able to afford three rooms, at first. Something bigger – at least I hope." He hated the apology in his voice, but couldn't quite reign it in.

Sybil nodded thoughtfully. "A main room, a kitchen, and a bedroom?"

Tom nodded. "Yes. I wish I could offer you a water closet, or even a bath, too, but I'm afraid those don't exist in the sorts of places we'll be living," he said apologetically. "Most of them are not very modern."

Sybil blinked. "So…what will the….bathing….situation be?" she asked, obviously not sure.

Tom winced slightly. "We might have a shared water closet, or at worst an outdoor…house. We'll keep a tub for bathing, in the flat," he explained tentatively, his eyes searching his fiance's face for a reaction.

Sybil nodded once. "That was how it was at York."

Tom breathed out. _Well, at least she's lived that way before, even if it was only for a few weeks._

"And we'll heat the water for baths on the stove?" she asked, the look on her face too sincere to be mistaken for seduction.

"Right," Tom said, pressing his thumb into Sybil's heal a bit harder than he had originally intended. He sought her eyes quickly. "I'm sorry, love," he apologized rapidly.

Sybil shook her head slightly. "Don't be. I'm tougher than I look," she said, a determined edge to her voice.

Tom heard the double meaning to her comment and breathed in. _Thank God._

"What sort of heat will we have?" she asked.

"Stoves, for coal. They're more efficient than fireplaces," he said. "Warner."

Sybil gave a tiny shiver then, as if on cue. She flinched slightly, and then turned to smile at Tom. "Point made," she teased.

Tom allowed himself a grin. "Don't worry, love. I'll keep you warm."

"I'm sure," she teased slightly, her tone again flirtatious. "Except that if it's warmer heat, then I suppose I won't need you to keep me warm then, when we're married. And that's such a shame, because I thought that was one of the benefits of marriage..."

One of Tom's eyebrows rose. "Well, I would not want to destroy your plans, of course. We'll just economize on our coal purchase, then," he responded cheekily, one of his fingers running up the bottom side of her foot then.

"Tom!" Sybil shrieked. "Really!"

"Sorry," he grinned, unable to resist at least _that_ temptation. "You do know that I could give you a far better foot rub if I could just rub your feet, with no stockings," he suggested.

Sybil's eyes rolled, though she grinned.

"It was just a suggestion..."Tom responded quickly, his tone playful. Still, though, his hands began to creep up her ankle, and then her calf.

Sybil reached down and swatted at his hand, if rather weakly. "Tell me more." She paused, and then allowed herself a naughty smile. "First, at least."

Tom sighed, though he certainly didn't miss her little coda. _Waiting. The story of my life._ Still, though, his hands began to move again on her foot.

"How will we budget for things? Will our rent be monthly? Or is it quarterly, or yearly, as it is for the farmers on estates?" she asked, referencing the system she knew best.

Tom shook his head. "We'll pay rent for the flat monthly. As well as water, as we'll likely have a pump inside, and for gas, too."

"And food?"

"It will be best to budget by week, I think, though we'll need to buy much more often than that. Fresh meats don't keep long. It we want milk or eggs that will be from a milkman, of course." Tom nearly bit his tongue then as soon as he realized what he's said. _Of course. Don't say that, you food. Of course she doesn't know, or she'd not be asking. No need to make her feel anymore uncomfortable than she already does, _he scolded himself.

"Do you like a lot of milk?" Sybil asked.

Tom shrugged. "Mam made us drink it all when we were children, as much as we could. I do like a glass of it in the summertime, with a bit of ice in for a chill."

"Will we be able to get ice?"

Tom nodded. "If we want to pay for it. You can buy if off a wagon by the block, if you like."

"Do people keep ice boxes?" she asked, familiar with the large ice boxes in the Downton kitchens, which were chilled with ice harvested from Downton's small lake.

Tom worked hard not to flinch. "They're quite expensive."

"Ah," Sybil nodded once. "Right." She breathed deep, her eyes very inquisitive. "What all will we need to buy then, for the flat?" she asked ,a trifle hesitant.

Tom's hands slowed, and he put down her one foot, giving himself a long silence to plan his response while he reached for her other food and began to rub it. "Some flats have furniture in them, but the quality is often quite poor. I've saved up enough to be able to buy some basic things at first." He paused. "Though most of it will likely need to be second hand," he added, his voice a touch softer.

When his eyes had the courage to meet hers a few moments later, he was stunned to find her smiling. She shook her head slightly, a bit of an embarrassed look creeping across her face. "It sounds rather exciting, really, picking out furniture and arranging all of it, as we like," she said. "I never thought I'd have much choice, when it came to where I would live."

Tom's eyes widened slightly. _She's excited at the prospect of picking out second hand furniture? The daughter of the Earl of Grantham? _He played her words back over in his mind. _Though I suppose she is rather accustomed to old things - though certainly of a different quality. And if she did marry someone from her own class, it is likely that they'd be living with his family, I think, in a grand house somewhere where things never change. And if his mother was still in the house..._

"What all will we need?" she asked eagerly, breaking Tom's train of thought.

Tom grinned reflexively. "Well, a bed, of course," he drawled wickedly. "Though I've no doubt that a sofa just like this might do just fine, if we needed..."

Sybil started to giggle then, blushing. She poked her Tom soundly in the ribs with her free toes. "You're terrible!" she scolded.

"I know. But you like me that way best, I think," he said. "And I am just trying to be responsible with our money, love, of course..."

"Right," she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Here all you seem to want is a sofa, and I was thinking that it would be so nice to have a big, warm bed, plenty large enough to..."

Some sort of noise came from Tom then, a mix between a groan and a growl.

She giggled again then at the slightly pained look on her handsome fiancé's face. "And will that be all you require for furniture then, Mr. Branson?" she teased.

_You will be the death of me, _he thought, his mind full of what Sybil, in that bed - _no, my bed - our bed,_ - might look like, her hair all tousled and her milk-white limbs splayed.

"Tom?" she teased. "Hello?"

He laughed heartily. "Sorry love. I just..."

Sybil giggled. "We're terrible."

Tom smiled, a broad grin that showed his teeth. "No we're not," he said, his head shaking. "We're in love."

"Madly," Sybil agreed happily.

Tom watched her with great amusement as she closed her lips for a moment, seeming to weigh a thought carefully. After a long moment, she spoke.

"And other sorts of furniture?"

Tom bit back the first response that came to his mind. _A table, or a chair. Or just a bit of floor, or a wall, I suppose, if... _He cleared his throat, trying to force himself to calm. After all, the others were just only upstairs, and he would bet money on the fact that Isobel's door was not completely closed. "We'll need a table, of course, and chairs for eating. Two for us, and maybe another two, at least, if we have people to dinner."

"Now that's something that scares me," Sybil said quickly. "I'm not sure that I can even manage to feed up, let alone someone else," she worried.

Tom held her foot for a moment, his hands stilling. "Don't fret about it, love. We don't need to have guests, if you don't want."

"Will your family expect it though?" Sybil asked, as though the thought just popped into her mind.

_My family. What will my family expect of us, I wonder? _ Tom breathed out and began rubbing again, a knot beginning to twist in his stomach. _They may be far more of a problem than any furniture..._

"Do they - know?" Sybil asked, her voice hesitant.

Tom nodded. This was something else they'd not discussed properly - at least not enough. "Mam...knows that there is...someone. I've told her about you in letters for years...I just never...until recently...told her quite who you are," he explained.

"Who I am, as you say, is the woman who loves you," Sybil said strongly, with conviction. "That _should_ be all that matters."

Tom bit back the words on his tongue, something about how that's hardly how her family would see him. Instead, he tried to answer calmly, his tone measured, even. "I told her who you are, completely, in the last letter that I sent. Before we departed for Manchester. I told her that we plan to marry when we reach Dublin. I did not ask her for any sort of permission, but told her that we would greatly like her blessing."

Sybil blinked rapidly, her eyes turning to gaze into the distance behind Tom, as if attempting to conjure the woman up again. "Will she give it?" she finally asked.

Tom sighed. "I don't know. I hope she will. Perhaps not at first, but I like to think that eventually she'll come 'round."

One of Sybil's eyebrows rose in a dubious gesture. "And my parents? Do you still believe they'll come around?"

Tom waited to speak until his eyes found hers. "I do," he said. "It may take time, but I believe they will. They love you."

A sad smile passed onto Sybil's lips. "Yes, they do. But I don't think they understand me. Mama may accept us, eventually, but Papa will see our marriage as a rejection of all that he is...and the life that he gave me. It will be very hard for him."

Tom's hands stopped, his body tensing slightly at her words, which we knew were true. "

"He'll not understand why I would want to leave Downton, to live the life of..."

_A poor woman. _He knew it was how they would see him, how they would see what he would force her to become.

"...a normal working woman."

Tom nodded silently.

"I am glad that Isobel has accepted us, and Matthew, and especially Edith. I do want her to come and visit us, Tom. She'll not be affronted by our simple ways, I don't think, and she needs so badly to see beyond Downton."

"Yes."

"Tom," Sybil said then, sensing his discomfort. She reached forward, her hand coming to his face. "I know that they will line up to point fingers and place their bets on how long our marriage will last, when we leave. I know that they'll all expect me to stay only a few months, until the novelty wears off and I come crawling back. I know they'll all expect us to fail," she said, shifting onto her knees before Tom on the couch. She caressed his cheek, his forehead with her hand, her other coming to rest at his shoulder. "I know they will be terribly cruel, to you. They'll say that I'm only marrying you to rebel, to break with my family. Or they'll say that I had to marry you, that there was...trouble...and that we had no choice. They'll cite every story they've ever heard, of ruined women forced to abandon their families and leave in disgrace, the bride of a man who shamed her, disgraced her."

Tom said nothing, trying to concentrate on her hands, and not the harsh reality of her words.

"And I fear that for the longest time, there will be nothing that we can do but endure it. I don't think there will be a thing that we can say, or anything that we can do, to convince them otherwise. I do hope that your family will be different, but..." her voice trailed off here, as if she were not quite willing to verbalize the doubts she harbored about them. "We'll just have to stand firm, Tom, together. We'll have to live our lives as we wish, and let them see that nothing, _nothing,_ will change. I'm sure we'll have fights, and disagreements, and the like, but we must always appear to them to be a team. Because that's what we are. We must be." Her words were pouring out quickly from her lips.

Tom nodded, his eyes searching her, wanting to give her any comfort he could. "We'll not be poor," he began. "I know it will seem like it, to your family," _but please God not to you,_ he added silently. "But we'll not be. Poor people live in...they're terrible, Sybil. The slums, in Dublin. I've...I've been to them, and they are completely unlike anything that you...or I, for that matter...had ever seen."

Blue-gray eyes blinked.

_"_My da was born in the slums. They were poor, terribly poor. There were ten of them, all living in one room, with no steady work, for any of them. He never attended school. He used to spend the days outside, in the streets, in better neighborhoods, waiting for a carriage or a wagon to stop so he could earn a coin holding the horses."

Sybil shifted slightly, as if she were going to turn and sit with her back to Tom. He, though, was not going to have this. _I want to be able to see you, love. To gauge your reaction as I tell you this...where I came from._

Tom couldn't say that, though, so instead he simply reached for her face and turned her back so she was facing him again. "Look at me, love, please," he asked quietly, slight worry lines forming on his brow.

"Of course," Sybil said, sensing his mood. She settled herself back on the divan, then, in her earlier position. She smiled at him, trying to give him the confidence to continue.

"When Da was about ten, the man whose hose he was holding offered him a position. The horse had started at something, and as Da told the story, nearly took off running down the street. Da was able to keep a hand on him, and somehow, managed to calm him. The man who owned the horse saw him, from inside of a shop. When he came out, several minutes later, the horse was standing calmly again, nuzzling my father's neck."

Tom seemed to relax a bit then, as if hearing his father tell the story. "The man offered Da a job then, to train to be a groom. Da went with him, and lived at his farm. It wasn't large, but the man was a Protestant, so he could own his own land. The groom that Da worked with, Mr. Duffy, taught him how to handle horses, and how to read."

"Did he meet your mother then, on a nearby farm?" Sybil asked, remembering Tom's stories about his grandfather's farm.

"No," he began. "Mam was raised on a farm, but she moved to Dublin when she was about fourteen or so to keep house for her uncle, who was a priest. He was her father's brother. She lived with him for several years and kept house for him in the rectory."

"And so they met in Dublin?"

"Aye," said Tom, falling back into his childhood speech patterns. "And it was grand, to hear Mam tell it. Da was working in Dublin, then, as an omnibus driver, and he came to a supper that they were having one night at the church. She always said that it only took seeing him once, and she was in love with him." Tom smiled at Sybil then, remembering his thoughts from earlier.

"Is that all it took you? One glance?" she teased gently.

A smile played on Tom's lips. "I did think you were lovely, the first time I saw you."

A thought seemed to cross Sybil's mind, then. She did not, however, speak.

"What?" Tom asked, curious at her expression.

She shook her head slightly, looking a trifle embarrassed.

"What?" Tom asked again, this time reaching to pull one of her feet into his lap again, his fingernails hovering threateningly over her stocking.

"No! Tom!" she shrieked, leaning over to grasp his hand in her own. "Don't!"

Instead of tickling her, though, he simple folded himself forward and gave her a quick kiss. "What were you thinking?" he asked again, his lips just back from hers.

She smiled and flushed slightly, looking back up to his dark eyes. "I was just thinking about what they might say about us someday...how we met."

"They?"

"Our children," she answered softly, before putting her lips to his.

* * *

_A couple of historical notes to finish. First of all, while I know that indoor plumbing was certainly an option for those who could afford it going back into the last quarter of the 19th century, I also know that buildings that were already constructed in working class neighborhoods often took decades to receive indoor plumbing, at least here in the States. I strongly suspect that the same would have been true in Dublin. Thus I fear that Tom and Sybil are in for many years of kitchen baths, until they rise up to a point where they can buy a nicer flat or a small cottage and have a bath installed. _

_Also – a note on class. Again, I'm coming at this from the perspective of middle America….but. I think it is safe to say that in the class system of the British Empire, Tom would have grown up solidly working class. Truly poor people, who lived in slums that were unbearable, would have never have had the skills or the manners to train for service. Service jobs were not uncommon, but jobs at a large estate, like Downton Abbey, would have been much sought after in the period still when Tom hired in, prewar. Thus Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes pride in their positions. Servants, though still working people, worked in a world of finery and wealth, and were therefore expected to have certain accomplishments of their own, of the sort that would have been rare to nonexistent in true slums. _

_In contrast, the working class saw service largely as a descent, and potentially safe, job. Someone who rose up in service would have thought himself above factory laborers and the like. They would NOT, however, have had any delusions of being middle class. The middle class in England was, in some ways, the equivalent of the "upper class" of the turn of the century American small town – doctors, lawyers, white collar professionals who could afford homes, significant property (often in the forms of nice furnishings and clothing), as many as a handful of domestic servants (likely a combination of part and full time), and the occasional journey to a pleasant destination. While Isobel Crawley could not have afforded a trip around the world, in a fashion the Crawleys might have once enjoyed in better financial days, she was certainly able to journey to Manchester on a whim. _

_If a young Sybil dared to venture onto the tenant farms that made up the Downton estate, she would have been exposed to working class people like Tom as a child. However, it's unlikely that she would have ever have been in many of their homes, as they would consider it unusual and probably too presumptive to invite a lady of the manor into their homes. _

_I would also dare to venture that Sybil would have had little exposure to many working class people outside of their servants, despite her training. The girls she nursed with were likely from a middle class background, as they had the education and the means to obtain such training. This was not the days of Florence Nightengale, when average nurses were poor women with no education, often given to sampling their patient's 'medicines' themselves. Thus even her time in the "real" world would have not prepared her completely for what she was facing with Tom._

_And lastly….I know the bit with Tom's father was a bit Dickinsonian….but I couldn't resist. _

Up next - some more bromance!


	35. A Bit Exposed

_And now back to the bromance..._

* * *

Tom walked into the dark room and closed the door behind him, hearing the latch click softly into place. His hand still on the knob, he leaned back on the door and exhaled.

_Soon. Soon, Tommy. Soon you'll not need to say goodnight to her anymore. Soon she'll be yours to love properly, day and night._

A smile lingered on his lips as he struggled to still feel her kiss then, sweet and warm, as she had shared it with him just outside of his door.

_She's just on the other side of that wall. Just over there, changing into her nightclothes, getting ready to climb into bed and drift off to sle…_

Before Tom could finish his thought, though, he was interrupted by a voice from the other side of the room

"Good night Tom!" it said, in a light, sing-songy voice.

Tom's eyes closed, his hands coming up to rub at them. He laughed softly. _My God, I'm pathetic,_ he thought to himself.

"You could hear us, then?" he asked quietly, his eyes beginning to adjust to the darkness as he looked towards Matthew's bed.

A low chuckle was his response. "Don't worry. Mother's a sound sleeper," Matthew responded dryly, obviously enjoying himself.

Tom shook his head. "There was still a light on, under her door," Tom confessed.

This brought more laughter. "Well, you were careful to be on our side of the hall, I assume."

Tom shook his head slightly. "Mostly. A bit. Perhaps."

Matthew laughed again. "It's not as if we don't already know," Matthew said. "And you were certainly quieter than she was, with Edith this morning. Apparently the two of them were having a pillow fight, Mother said?"

Tom smirked at this. "Yes. I got one in the face when I went in to tell her good morning. It was actually quite funny, though I certainly wasn't expecting it!"

"Edith hit you in the face with a pillow?" Matthew asked incredulously, pushing himself up on his elbows.

Tom grinned and walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, which wasn't far from Matthew's. "No. Sybil did, actually."

"She what?" Matthew squeaked. "What in God's name did you do to deserve that?" he asked, obviously terribly amused.

Tom looked down at the floor, a trifle embarrassed. _I wonder how much I dare tell him. He does have a frightful sense of propriety, according to Sybil._ "I walked into their room to say good morning," he started, a bit abashed. "And Edith had just been teasing her about something, and she turned to hit Edith with a pillow. Except that she found me first," Tom explained, the whole episode playing before his eyes again, including Sybil's shriek of horror and Edith's subsequent fit of giggles, when both sisters realized what had just happened.

"I presume they weren't expecting your visit, then?" Matthew teased.

Tom looked up to meet Matthew's eyes. "Presumably not," he said, feeling a bit of warmth begin to cloud his cheeks. _Hopefully he'll not see it in the dark, at least. _

"Was that what kept you from downstairs so long? Edith made some comment about Sybil being slow to get up and around, but I dare say that must have been a bit of a cover-up," Matthew began, sounding as if he knew there was more to the story.

Tom reached down to begin work on his shoes. "She was the last one to rise, I believe," he mumbled.

"But surely she was dressed when…." Matthew began, obviously thinking out loud.

_If it was summer, you'd be able to hear the crickets,_ Tom thought, becoming quite embarrassed at his silence, and what it might be causing Matthew to think. That being said, though, he couldn't quite bring himself to deny it, or lie. _Right. Well done, Tom. He's Sybil's cousin, and God knows how honorable he prides himself on being. If I'm not careful I'll destroy what little good will we have, with the Crawleys._

"You walked in on Sybil naked?" Matthew said with great urgency and not a little more volume, sitting up as far as he could, given his condition.

"No! Holy God, no!" Tom protested, standing suddenly, hands flailing. "Holy Mother of God!" He looked towards the door anxiously, as if expecting to see Matthew's mother burst through it, ready to handcuff him and drag him out of the house. "No! She was – well – she was in her – night – clothes – but she was properly covered, let me reassure you!" he protested vehemently.

Matthew's hand raised to his forehead as he began laughing again. "Oh my God! What timing! Edith must have been horrified!"

Tom's jaw dropped. _He's amused at this? Good Lord, what a surprising man! I could have sworn that he'd…_

Then suddenly it dawned on Tom. Matthew thought he'd mistakenly walked in on Sybil in her night clothes. Which was, in truth, partially true…though it wasn't as if he hadn't seen her before, in that state. Several times, now that he thought about it, including earlier that morning, of course.

_It had been rather hard, going in to leave her the rose, without kissing her awake. The door wasn't locked, of course, so that part wasn't difficult. Nor was the wanting to do it. God knew he'd been itching to see her since the moment his eyes opened early that morning. He'd awoken early, his body on alert, the wall separating them the first thing he saw when his eyes opened._

_He's laid there in the bed for a few moments, telling himself that he should enjoy the lie in when he had the chance. A few times he'd tried to close his eyes and fall back to sleep, but the thoughts that came to him then certainly weren't restful. With a quick glance over towards the still sleeping form of his future cousin-in-law, he'd decided that this was not the best place for him, and had decided to get up._

_Knowing that it would probably be at least another hour until anyone else awoke, Tom washed up quickly in the bathroom down the hallway – the first full bath that he'd ever used inside a home, he realized as he stood in it. He dressed quickly, opting to wear the same suit he had on the day before, despite the fact that he had brought another. _It's not as if they don't know who you are, Tommy, _he told himself as he pulled his trousers up onto his hips and fastened them._

_Slipping on his coat, he spent a moment in front of the mirror looking at himself, his eyes darkening. It was another introspective moment – the Dublin boy wondering how he was here – in the upstairs bedroom of a home owned by the widow of a successful middle class doctor and her son, who was, oddly enough, seeming like he might one day become a very good friend. _A friend. I can count the number of the friends I've had in England on one hand, _he thought, watching Matthew breathe in and out in his sleep. _And the future Earl of Grantham to boot. Poor man – his Lordship – first I fall in love with his daughter, and convince her to run away with me, and then his heir decides that I might be a decent sort of bloke and starts to befriend me. The irony…. _This brought a grin to Tom's face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. _I hope to God that he'll not turn, when we….

_Tom shook his head then. _No. There's no point in thinking about it every waking moment. You will go – you know that. You'll find some sort of work, eventually. And she will come with you. And you will marry, and that's that. In the end we'll do it regardless of who says yes or who says no. Which means that you can bloody well stop worrying about it for five minutes and get out and enjoy the day, enjoy the time you have to yourself, in a new city, in a new place.

_With this lecture firmly delivered, Tom turned and scribbled a quick note to Matthew that he placed on his bedside table. _Went out for a walk, will be back by seven. – Tom _Slipping out of the room quietly, he walked downstairs, and after reaching for his hat and putting it on, slipped the lock on the front dor and walked out casually._

_The streets were dark, save for the occasional street light. The house was in the midst of a residential neighborhood, most of the homes the same vintage and similar design. Tom walked along the pavements at a brisk clip, as the air was still quite cold, the sun not yet having risen._

_The darkness didn't bother him, though. For as much as he adored Sybil and was looking forward to the prospect of marrying her and living with her, Tom knew that he had often tended towards solitude. He had rather enjoyed having his own cottage for the last several years, a small haven where he could ready away the long evenings, or the occasional morning, when the family had nowhere to go._

_This morning, though, Tom's companion was not a book, not his typewriter. This morning he was simply along with his thoughts, and the sounds of the Manchester streets as they began to awaken. _

_He walked in silence for several blocks, doing nothing more than raising his hat slightly to the occasional housemaid who was out in front of a house, scrubbing the front steps already. Food deliveries of various sorts were made at the back of the house normally, which was accessible via a long alley that ran behind the houses. Tom's city sense told him, however, that it couldn't be that far to a market of some sort, as there were many foods that wouldn't be delivered to these middle class town homes._

_He could hear the din before he saw it, the clank of wooden crates and the grumble of early morning shoppers. He watched it all with interest, memories of his childhood in Dublin washing over him. His mother had often sent the children out to purchase things for their meals, though the selection at their local markets paled in comparison with what Tom saw now, in the more affluent middle class area._

_He ambled through the stalls slowly, his eyes catching the prices on various goods, winter root vegetables interspersed with the occasional greenhouse offering._

_It was there that he saw them, a small display of roses next to some tomatoes. The scarlet of the roses put the orangy red produce to shame. Tom knew that they would be expensive without looking at the sign, but in that moment, it didn't matter. All he saw before him was her again, in the front hall of James and Susan's Liverpool home, her eyes dancing as he presented the flowers to her. _That was the night that we went to the pub. And she wore them again the next night then, when we saw the film, and when she first kissed me…

_His eyes closed then, and he tried to remember exactly how it had been, that first kiss. It was funny….you could have asked him to remember any of his first kisses with the girls from back home, and he couldn't have told you about any of them, then. But his first kiss with her….that was one he would never forget._

"_Did you want to buy something, or are you planning to sleep in front of my stall all day?" the vendor had grumbled, Tom's eyes opening reluctantly at the noise. _

"_No, I'll take one, please," Tom said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the necessary amount. He picked out one that was just beginning to open. _

_The transaction was quick, and before Tom realized it, he was walking back to Isobel's house again, his chauffeur's sense helping him navigate back via the same path without any trouble. Suddenly, he didn't need to be out in the streets anymore. The morning air, the rising sun – they were all just details that suddenly seemed like nothing when compared with the illicit joy of sneaking into Sybil's room and leaving her the gift of a rose, knowing it would bring her the same happy memory that he'd already enjoyed._

"Well, you did a fine job of hiding it at breakfast. Though I do suppose that the two of you always do have a bit of a mischievous look about you, anytime that you're together," Matthew accused with a slight laugh, his voice interrupting Tom's thoughts.

Tom laughed in response. "I think we rather do," he agreed. "I must say that it amazes me that we've not been caught, yet. It rather feels a bit like living on top of a bomb."

Tom flinched the moment the words were out of his mouth. _That was a bloody fool thing to say. Arse. The poor man lost his ability to use his legs in a blast, and you shoot your fool mouth off._

Matthew cleared his throat slightly. "I imagine."

"I'm sorry. That was unforgivable…" Tom began at the same time, his words stumbling over Matthew's, his volume rising slightly. He looked at the shared wall with the girls' room involuntarily. "I didn't mean to imply that what we're doing is anything like that you've gone through." His voice was tight, embarrassment obvious in his tone.

Matthew shook his head. "No trouble. Besides, I'm out of it now. You're about to step both feet into it now, I think."

Tom nodded abruptly. "Right."

Matthew cleared his throat lightly as Tom turned his back to Matthew. "Do you mind?" Tom asked softly.

"Of course not. You had to help me into the bloody bath this morning," Matthew fumed, obviously still a bit embarrassed by the roll Tom was filling in regards to his care.

"It's no trouble." Tom unbuttoned his waistcoat, which he put on the bed upon removing. Beginning on his shirt buttons, he spoke again. "And I mean that as a friend, not as a servant," he added.

"Right. Thank you, for that," Matthew replied, the tension in his voice easing ever so slightly.

Neither spoke for a moment as Tom continued, reaching back for his waistcoat once he had removed his shirt. He turned then, and walked over to the wardrobe that stood in the corner of the room, where he had arranged both Matthews clothes and his own, hanging side by side. Reaching in, he hung the two pieces neatly.

His back to Matthew, he reached for the buttons on his trousers.

"I do hope that I can help you someday, with something," Matthew said, his voice ringing out into the darkness.

Tom's hands froze momentarily. _You really should ask Matthew to read your articles, Tom. He's be happy to do it, I'm sure. _Sybil's words echoed in his mind.

"I know I'm not good for much, but…."

Tom shook his head at this. _The heir feels inferior with the chauffeur. My God, what a pair we are._

Tom began to slide his trousers down, then. Stepping first out of one leg, and then the other, he spoke again. "You've already helped us a great deal, you know. Just accepting me – us."

"Right." Matthew sighed heavily then. "But that's nothing less than what you should have. People should accept you, even if your relationship is a bit – nontraditional."

Tom wanted to laugh at this, but stopped himself short. Matthew wasn't trying to be funny, he knew. Turning slightly, in the dark, a half dressed Tom turned to face his roommate's bed. "It's not as easy as that. I – well, I don't know how my family will react actually either," Tom confessed a bit haltingly. "We may end up having to fare on our own. I – I like to think that eventually, our families will come round, but…."

Tom could see Matthew roughly, his head nodding. After a short silence, he spoke. "I…for whatever it's worth, you and Sybil will be welcome at Downton, someday, when I inherit. I know it's not ideal, as it will likely be Cousin Robert's for many years still. And I'm sure that Sybil will want his acceptance – that you both will – much more than you'll ever care to set foot in the house again. But I will promise you that, at least.

"Thank you." Tom turned then, slightly, and reached for his pyjamas, in the top shelf of the wardrobe. "That's very kind." He meant every word.

"And I dare say…" Matthew began again, a bit more hesitantly, "That if you ever needed anything, Robert and Cora would not turn you away."

Tom's grip on the fabric of his pyjamas tightened slightly at this as he pulled the pants on. "We'll make it on our own. We'll not be wealthy, but I will make sure that Sybil never wants for the essentials of life…."

"Right. No one's said that you and Sybil won't be able to provide for yourselves, Tom."

_Yes, but they'll bloody all well think it,_ Tom thought, biting back the words.

"And God knows that Sybil's far too practical to want all of the frivolities of Downton. It really is ridiculous, sometimes, all of the things that are considered essential."

_Keep tying, lad,_ Tom thought, his hands knotting the drawstring of his pants. _He's not finished yet._

"And I presume that you won't go until you have some sort of a lead on work, anyway," Matthew continued out loud.

Tom felt the breath expunge from his lungs then, and he was pretty sure that they both heard it. _Yes. Thanks to your cousin, who I dare say is a far better planner than I am. Though God knows if I can actually accomplish what she wants for me….and what I want for myself. _

"Do you have something lined up?"

Tom's eyes closed. _Did she? Can I ask him? Would it sound as though I was second guessing her?_

"Sybil's not said anything, so I wasn't sure."

_And there's my answer. _Dark blue eyes opened then, and stared into the darkness of the room. Tom breathed in a little more heavily than normal. Standing up, he walked around to the side of his bed, and pulled back the covers.

Sinking down onto the mattress – much softer than his own – he willed his body to relax. "No. I've not anything yet. But I am trying to follow some leads."

"Will you be driving?"

_Will I stay in service? Not if I can bloody well help it. I won't bring Sybil there, to that point. I'll not make her live in someone else's cottage on an estate that would likely be inferior to the one where she was raised, as a daughter of the house. I'd never ask that of her, unless we were starving and it was the only thing I could do. I would never demean her in that way…_

"I hope to write."

There. He'd said it. Tom stared out into the darkness, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"What?"

_What. Well, that's better than how, I suppose._ Tom swallowed. "For a newspaper."

"You intend to go for a journalist?" Tom heard Matthew sigh then. "My God. What is it with the Crawley girls and newspaper men?" he muttered.

Tom's mind instantly flashed then to Mary's fiancé, Sir Richard Carlisle. He said nothing for a moment, aware the topic was a rather painful one for Matthew.

"Then again, I don't suppose you intend to own one."

Tom laughed at this, his reaction a bit of nerves combined with the pure absurdity of it. "Not unless I start my own, I don't think," he said, amused at the thought of it for some absurd reason.

"I suppose that's probably out of the question," Matthew replied, his tone warming slightly. "Sorry. That was absurd."

"Rather," Tom agreed, his frame loosening slightly as he relaxed.

"Have you done much writing? I used to have to write all sorts of things, back in my law days. Always hated it, but it had to be done."

"I'd not written much, for a long time, but Sybil encouraged me to try it. Said that it would put all of my time reading newspapers to use," Tom explained.

"Ah. You must enjoy it, then, to give it a go."

Tom found himself nodding, though it took him a moment to realize that Matthew might not see that, both of them laying in their beds. "I do. I'm too verbose, but I enjoy it."

"Do you have anyone to edit them for you? Give you suggestions?"

Tom's toes curled then, under the covers. He flexed them back open, willing his voice to stay level. "She reads them. But she says that she's not my target audience, and that I need to find someone else to look at them as well."

"Does she say who this target audience is?"

Tom's throat felt rather tight then. _You. You. _He swallowed. "Someone –"

"Like me?"

Tom's lips closed then. _Did he just say that? What does it mean? Would he actually be interested?_

"I don't suppose you'd let me read them, would you? I'm not much of a writer, but I did help edit things when I was in school, quite often."

Tom breathed out. "Yes. I would – if you like."

"Sounds rather interesting, actually," Matthew said, sounding as though he was turning slightly in his bed. "Do you have any with you?"

"I do. I brought three, actually," Tom said into the darkness.

"Right. I'll read them tomorrow, if you like. I don't know that we have anything else planned, until the afternoon. You will still go down to the office with me, in the afternoon."

"Of course." They'd talked about it at dinner.

"Good. That'll give me some time to think then, and then we can discuss them."

"Right."

Both were silent for a moment.

Then Tom, quietly, spoke. "Thank you."

Both were quiet again, until Matthew broke the silence. "You will be living in Dublin, you and Sybil?"

"Yes."

Tom waited to hear more then, but nothing came.

* * *

_Up next...some early morning nonsense._


	36. Hot Water

_Just in case you think we're developing too much of a plot…._

* * *

_Isobel's house must have had the quietest doors in the world, _Sybil would reminisce years later, during a late night coffee break with some of the other nurses at the Dublin hospital where she worked. _For all of the shenanigans we got into…._she continued, her Irish slang having grown stronger over the years. _We all told ourselves that it was all accidental, of course, but looking back I wonder if we really knew exactly what we were doing, all along..._

* * *

_Damned coffee. I should have had that last cup, before we went upstairs,_ Sybil thought, her minded still mostly clouded with sleep. Pushing back the covers, she shivered. One white foot popped out, and then the other.

She shivered again then, this time more violently, when both feet hit the rug beneath the bed. _I'd best get accustomed to cold mornings, _she thought. _Daisy won't be coming in to make up the fires when we're married. It'll be just the two of us, and the cold. And I'll certainly _not _have Tom doing it. I really hope he doesn't try to do everything like that, when we're married, afraid that I'll miss the comforts of home too much. I'll box his ears if he tries to pull the servant bit._

She shuffled across the floor as quietly as she could, towards the door, her feet enjoying the warmth of the scattered rugs. With one last glance back to her motionless sister, who appeared to be sleeping rather soundly, soft snores emanating from her slightly opened mouth, Sybil reached for the doorknob and turned it.

The hallway was dark, thought it was most certainly morning. _I suppose we'll all be getting up in a few hours,_ Sybil thought to herself. She gave a cursory glance to each of the hallway doors as she passed them, noticing in the back of her mind that each room seemed dark.

_I'm no doubt the only bloody one who was stupid enough to drink too much, and then not use the look before I went to bed,_ she thought, the slang term well etched in her mind from her nursing days. _I'll just…._

Her hand reached for the doorknob of the bathroom door then. She twisted it, quietly, and began to push it in, her feet shuffling from the wooden floor of the hall to the cool tile floor.

She was standing just over the threshold of the bathroom, the door knob still in her hands, when she heard the curse. Her eyes had been firmly trained on the loo up until that moment. It sat in the corner of the room, opposite the tub. As soon as she heard the sound, though, and registered that the voice was male, and the curse most certainly not in English, her eyes flew to the other side.

His eyes were huge, his mouth hanging open. "Sybil, love, what in the name of God are you doing?" he asked, his voice a sharp whisper, his eyes flickering between her face and the open door next to it.

"Oh!" It was all she could manage.

There was Tom, sitting in the tub, the top part of his bare chest visible above the tub line. His hair was wet, as though he'd already washed it, the strands slicked back even more than normal.

Standing there, staring like an idiot, Sybil suddenly realized that it was much warmer in here. _Much_ warmer. Or at least that's how it felt to her. She found herself staring at the way the water droplets had formed little trails across his white skin.

In the next moment she realized that suddenly she was warm now, and getting much warmer. Gone were her thoughts of the loo, her mind now terribly full of other things, much more important, pressing things. Like the fact that the man she was desperately in love with was sitting in a bathtub a few short feet before her, naked as the day he was born.

As much as her mind was a complete muddle of wants and desires, oddly, her first reaction was to giggle. She started softly, and then her laughter grew, causing her to clamp a hand over her mouth in the attempt to stifle it, or at least muffle the sound.

Tom, for his part, did not seem quite so amused, though a grin was slowly beginning to take over his face. Not yet to the point of laughter, though, Tom tried desperately to take some sort of control of the situation, which was, he would readily admit much later, actually quite funny.

"Sybil, love, you….you need to either come in – no – go back in the hall, love….I'll be just a moment, I promise, and then you can have…."

The smile on her face grew. Forcing her laughter down and dropping her hands, she arched an eyebrow and gave her fiancé quite possibly the most unrefusable smile he'd ever seen.

"Or you'll what? Stand up?"

This made Tom turn bright red. Looking down involuntarily and then back up at her, he looked half pleased and half terrified. "Love, really, you….if anyone…."

"I have seen naked men, before, you know. I've even helped bathe them, now that I think about it. So perhaps if you needed any help…." She knew it was cruel, but she couldn't stop the words from pouring out of her lips.

Tom looked at her then like he could have eaten her for breakfast, his eyes locking on her hands and closing, then opening again.

The look on Sybil's face, of course, wasn't helping much either. Her eyes were narrowed just ever-so-slightly, as if she looked at Tom hard enough, she might be able to stare through the cast iron tub. Her cheeks were flushed brightly, her hands were at her sides, though one of them was wanting desperately to reach out, and her feet itching were positively itching to step forward.

Sybil watched, a bit heady with her own power, as she watched Tom's eyes darken as he stared at her, his mouth still slightly open.

"I…."

The sound of his voice, which cracked slightly when he spoke, was enough to make her move one step further. The edge of the tub was now just above Tom's waist, in her line of vision. Her face was bright red now, she knew, from the warmth she could feel radiating on it.

_Just another step. Good God, Sybil, you're terrible. One more step, and…_

"You look a bit afraid of me, Mr. Branson. Aren't you used to a well-born lady asking if she can assist you in any way in the…."

_Splash!_

Sybil shrieked softly, her hands coming up to cover her face as water droplets flew her direction. She blinked rapidly, biting back her laughter as she saw Tom stand up, turning as he did so, reaching quickly for a towel from the stand next to the tub. He was quick – but not quite quick enough to prevent Sybil from getting a nice view of his backside.

She whistled softly, like one of the nurses taught her to do one night when they were outside.

When he turned around again a moment later, grinning madly, standing just outside of the tub, a towel that was _just_ big enough wrapped around his waist, she was nearly doubled over in silent laughter. His shoulders began to shake then too.

When she managed to bring herself upright again, she shook her head at the sight before her. Her fiancé, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his face alight with a wicked grin, his eyes nearly the color of the night sky. _My God, I want him!_ she thought. _ I cannot possibly marry him quickly enough…._

Refusing to let Tom think he had the upper hand now, and with every ounce of her flesh screaming at her to draw out this scene as long as possible, she began to saunter towards the tub, doing her very best to try to look sexy, despite the nearly all consuming nature of the white nightclothes she wore. She put her hands out then, tugging at Tom's folded arms teasingly.

"You are terrible!" he whispered, one still wet hand reaching out for her. "If you're not careful, we're going to be getting married this afternoon!"

They kissed then, both of them needing _some_ sort of release, no matter how inadequate.

"Why?" she said huskily, when she pulled back.

"Because God knows I can't touch you until then, or …"

"Touch me? Are you saying you've not touched me, Mr. Branson? Because if I remember correctly, you've touched me rather a lot…."

This brought a hiss from between Tom's teeth. "Sybil –"

She kissed him again then, her hands running up his sides, fingers trailing over his ribcage, making him shiver against her touch. She was leaning into him, her nightclothes dampening slightly, absorbing some of the water he had not yet dried off.

They kissed for a long moment, each one of them feeling quite desperate at this stolen moment they'd managed to acquire quite by accident. Five minutes more found Sybil moaning as Tom's lips started to move down her neck, and finally onto the shoulder blades that peaked out underneath her night clothes.

As if directed by the power of his suggestion, her own hands started to move down then too, from his ribs to his waist. Without even consciously doing so (or so she would tell herself later), she hooked a finger under the edge of his towel, letting her nail trail along the skin there.

This brought a deep groan from Tom. It only lasted a moment though, the sound dying in his throat as Sybil's fingers tugged a bit too hard, the towel suddenly slackening and beginning to slip.

Tom reached down to grab it quickly, the towel slipping just a short inch.

_Darn._ Sybil bit her lip and grinned wickedly. _Not that I was trying, of course, but if fate had other intentions..._

"I really wasn't trying..." she began, though her tone didn't quite agree with the innocent look she was trying (and rather badly failing) to draw across her face.

Shaking his head slightly, looking for all the world as if he wanted to laugh, Tom simply grinned. "Minx."

This earned him a haughty look. Stepping forward, Sybil reached out to brush her fingers across his navel, her hand running slowly up his chest then, her fingernails caressing the skin. He breathed deeply and shivered, his eyes devouring her every movement.

She didn't stop until they were at chin, tugging it down for another kiss. Before her lips reached his, though, she couldn't resist another tease. Batting her eyelashes and dropping her voice low, the breath of her words fell hot on his lips. "True," she said, her tone languid and warm. "But something tells me that you rather like me this way."

And then she spoke no more.

* * *

_Who knew that sharing a bathroom could be a forbidden pleasure? _


	37. A Perfect Fit

_There's nothing quite like a girls shopping trip, is there? This chapter features the Crawley sisters, accompanied by Isobel, on a quest to find things that fit them perfectly._

_By the way, I've read that the alerts aren't working terribly well right now. If you missed it, I posted a chapter involving an early morning Sybil/Tom moment involving a bathtub and a birthday suit last week! Do read and comment, if you have the time, please!_

* * *

"Wait a moment."

Sybil turned from the door to give her sister a slightly perplexed look. _What possibly can she want? She's not going to say that she wants to go back, is she? She can't be nervous about shopping here, even if it's not exactly one of the normal dressmakers…._

The brown gaze that met hers was not nervous, though, as much as it was determined. Pressing her lips together for a moment, Edith glanced to Isobel, and then back to her sister, who seemed to be in a rather impatient mood.

"I meant to say this to you earlier, but there wasn't a chance. And I was not about to say it in the motor, because I didn't want Tom to feel….insulted. But I must say it now, to you," Edith said firmly, her eyes flitting to the sign above the store's door, and then back to her sister's yet again. "Before we go inside."

Sighing lightly, Sybil lifted her eyebrows and turned her head slightly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Edith's foot twitching. "Well then?"

Edith reached out a hand to grip one of her sister's. "We both know that traditionally, a…Crawley bride would receive an entire trousseau before her wedding. Mary of course…."she trailed off, a trace of a frown appearing and then disappearing from her features. "But you're not Mary," she said, her eyes darting to the store's window, "and…well….I doubt that under your circumstances that….." Her cheeks reddened slightly here. "But you still – regardless of who you are marrying, or when, or where, - you still are a Crawley bride. And while you may not wear the coronet at your wedding, or be able to go to London or Paris for your trousseau…..you still deserve _something. _Some new clothes for – your new life. And so I want to buy that for you, today. Or over the next few days, if we don't find thing now. Or you can send for things through the mail, if you like. I – _I want_ to do this, Sybil, and you won't stop me. I have the money saved, and I can think of nothing better to do with it than give you your trousseau, before you sail…"

The last of Edith's sentence was broken off as Sybil enfolded her in a tight embrace then, right in front of the store, in very non-Crawley fashion.

"Thank you!" she whispered fiercely, her eyes a trifle wet as she pulled back to give her sister a broad smile. "I know I shouldn't say so, but thank you! I will most happily agree! I've not bought anything yet, as I've been trying to save my money for other things that we'll need…in light of outfitting a flat I couldn't quite bring myself to allow myself some new things, but…."

"Every bride deserves pretty things," Edith said, smiling at her sister affectionately. "Everyone."

"Even those that marry their chauffeurs?" Sybil teased lightly, though both sisters knew there was truth to what she said.

"Yes. Every single one."

Hands squeezed then, as their cousin smiled on them.

* * *

Another ten minutes found them inside the shop and browsing the wares. It wasn't a particularly large store, and it was unlike any other that the girls had ever been in, as it catered to a lower middle class clientele. Their wares were designed for the woman who preferred readymade clothing. Small quantities of dresses, shirtwaists, skirts, and jumpers were displayed, their lines straight and simple, the fabrics sturdy, if plain.

A middle aged woman who wore her hair pulled back in a tight bun had already welcomed them and told them a bit about the goods, and how they were arranged. She'd explained that there was a room for trying on garments in the back corner. Though her words were polite and her manners impeccable, no one in the party had missed her quick appraisal of Sybil, Edith, or Isobel's current attire, which, though plain for the Crawleys, was still superior in cut and quality to anything in the small shop.

Sybil, in good form, began to work her way systematically across the store, from one case to the next, seemingly unfazed by the sorts of products she was viewing. Isobel hovered in the background mostly, admiring one of the jumpers in the window, and keeping up a bit of a conversation with the main shopkeeper, thereby allowing Sybil and Edith time to peruse the goods as they wished.

Edith's eyebrows did raise ever so slightly at her sister as they browsed. "Are you…?" she asked quietly, a bit taken aback at the selection the store offered.

Sybil nodded a small, firm nod. "Of course. I can't go like this. It would be…." _His mother would have the vapors, I dare say, if I showed up in my clothes that I wear now. It would be even worse than when I went to my training, and was in the most expensive clothing in the room, before they issued the uniforms._

"But…"

Pursed lips met brown eyes. "You've seen Anna, on her day off. That's what I must strive for."

The eyes widened slightly at the comparison between a Lady and her maid. Still, to her credit, Edith simply swallowed and agreed. "Yes. Of course."

"I'll not need a great deal of things either, as we'll not change throughout the day. Well, except for the days I'm nursing, of course. I'll have my uniform to wear then…." Sybil's voice trailed off as she turned back to the case in front of her, which housed several slightly different styles of shirtwaists.

"May I see some of these, please?" she said, her eyes meeting those of a younger woman, who stood behind the dark wood and glass case looking quite serious. "The second from the left, and this one, ," she said, pointing down at the case.

"Yes'm," the young lady replied, nodding her head as she turned to face the wooden drawers behind her. "In what size, miss?"

"Thirty-six, imperial," Sybil replied.

"Of course," the girl responded softly. "Should you like to try'em on?"

"Yes, please," Sybil said. "But first, I'd like to look at some skirts also, and then some dresses. I fear we're going to be keeping you busy for awhile," she apologized politely.

"Of course, miss," the girl responded quietly, tugging two shirtwaists out of the wooden drawers. Placing then on the small table to the side, her fingers straightened the folds in the fabric by habit, before she turned to follow the sisters down to the next case, where colored prints showed a selection of a half dozen different skirt styles.

"This one is very popular this year, miss," the girl said, seeming to come out of her shell slightly as Sybil gazed at the drawings. "We have it in blue or gray, but we can order it in other colors too, if you like," she continued. "We do offer delivery, if you like."

Sybil smiled at this. "Of course. I fear that we're only in Manchester for a few days, though. I wonder if you might be able to send it on the train to Ripon? We would pay any additional delivery fees, of course," Sybil added.

"Yes, of course!" the girl chirped, her eyes widening slightly at this. _Most of the women who shop here probably never ask such a thing, _Sybil thought. _Then again, I'm hardly the normal woman, by anyone's standards…._

"Do you like this cut? I personally like the one on the right," Edith said, drawing her sister's attention back to the drawings. "What colors do you have this in?" she asked the shop girl.

"A deep plum and ivy green, miss," the girl said quickly, proud to show off her knowledge of the stock. "And black."

"Are they all wool?" Sybil asked. "I will need some things for summer, too. Do you have anything lighter?"

"Yes miss, of course. We have…."

* * *

Four skirts, three shirtwaists (Sybil had decided to try a third cut after some additional consideration), two jumpers, and some new undergarments later, the sisters retreated back to the small room for changing. Isobel seated herself on a chair just outside of the room, announcing to Sybil that she was expecting a fashion parade. Grinning, Sybil agreed.

"Would you like any help, miss?" the shop girl offered, willing to serve despite the fact that her arms were full of garments.

"No, thank you. My sister will be happy to help me, I'm sure," Sybil said, turning to grin at Edith. She was obviously having a fantastic time by this point, giddy with the thought of purchasing clothes, no matter how plain, that she would wear as Mrs. Branson.

Edith rolled her eyes in a profound lapse of manners despite the fact that the sales girl was still standing nearby watching. "Weren't you just bragging to me yesterday morning about how you can dress yourself?" Edith said dryly.

A short laugh escaped Isobel then. "I think we'll be fine," she said, turning to the girl with a smile on her face. "Why don't you allow me to take those, and I can help them as they need."

"Of course," the girl chirped, shrugging the stack of garments carefully onto Isobel's outstretched arms.

"Now, you come in with me, so you can help me, if I need it," Sybil said, pulling her sister with her behind the dividing curtains.

"You're impossible," Edith fumed, though she was smiling as she followed her sister behind the curtains.

"I know," Sybil retorted quickly, her hands already on her waistband, unfastening the buttons there. "Now, I do need something to put on, I'm afraid. Go get the plum skirt, and one of the shirtwaists from Cousin Isobel," she ordered, her fingers tugging at her skirt.

"You just told me to come in!" Edith replied, feigning exasperation.

"Go! Out with you!" Sybil said, giggling. "You're not a very good ladies maid, I'll have you know."

"I consider it even a compliment that you'll deign to consider even mentioning me in the same sentence as Anna," her sister retorted sharply, her nose inching into the air as she disappeared back out from the curtains.

Edith returned a moment later with the aforementioned goods, which Sybil slipped into quickly. Her sister watched her as she donned the clothing with ease, paying no mind to her much nicer garments that now hung from a hook on the wall.

"There! What do you think? Is the blouse the proper cut?" Sybil said, modeling for her sister.

Edith frowned slightly. "It's not as fitted as it might be, at your waist. I suppose that's because you're rather curvier than I am. I don't know that a smaller size might not be better."

"But then it would be too tight across my chest, wouldn't it?" Sybil said looking down, her hands smoothing the extra fabric at her waist into her straight cut skirt.

"I don't know. I'm sure that Anna could…."

"Anna is not touching these, thank you very much. First of all, Anna does not know – at least not yet. And I'm not telling her simply because I need some garments altered. Secondly, if I'm to be on my own, then I need to learn to do these things for myself, I suppose, or not worry about them at all," Sybil said, a determined note in her voice.

"Let me see," Isobel called out from the next room.

"Right," Sybil said, turning to walk through the curtain, Edith peering her own head out a moment later.

"It isn't a bad fit, I don't think, for something readymade," Isobel said, as Sybil walked out and turned before her slowly, letting her see each side of the outfit. "You might be able to take it in a bit, but do remember that the lines are becoming much cleaner, and much straighter. I should expect that we'll all be wearing blouses looser soon, if the current trends seem to continue," she said, in a rare attempt to play the peacemaker.

Edith tipped her head slightly, her eyes flitting from Sybil to her cousin. "I suppose."

"Readymade clothes do fit different," Sybil said, talking as much to herself as to the two other women. "I remember how odd my uniform felt, when I first wore it. It was rather a change, at first, though I miss it now," she added, her tone a bit wistful.

"How many will you want?" Edith said. "They're not terribly expensive."

_Not to you,_ Sybil thought, surprising herself at how quickly the thought popped into her mind. _I suppose Cousin Isobel's marketing lessons are rather taking. Or the talk I had with Tom, last night._

"I shouldn't think I would want more than three for summer, and for winter," Sybil said, her eyes coming to meet Isobel's for confirmation.

"That will do quite nicely, I think," Isobel responded. "And you will need to take dresses. Two for every day, perhaps, or one for every day and another for Sundays."

"Of course." Sybil's voice sounded normal, yet somewhere in the back of her mind a bell rang. _Church. Tom is Catholic. Will I attend services with him then, and his family? Certainly it wouldn't be wise for me to attend an English Church – well, it's called the Church of Ireland there – on my own. That would not set well with his mother, I'm sure. _ "Do you – " _And there might not even be one, where we'll be living. Everyone will be Irish, I'm sure, and Catholic as well…_

"Do I what, dear?" Isobel said, breaking into her train of thought.

Sybil blinked. "Oh. I apologize. I quite lost my thought for a moment." _I should ask Tom what Catholic women wear to church – if it's any different. I think some might wear veils, instead of hats…. I wonder if…._

"Edith, would you be a dear and go fetch the blue jumper by the window that Cousin Isobel was admiring? I think it might look well with the blue skirt," Sybil said, suddenly wanting her sister to go away.

"Of course," Edith said, noting, but not saying anything about, the subtle change of expression on her sister's face.

Sybil waited until Edith was gone, and then she stepped closer to Isobel. "I don't suppose you would know what Catholic women wear to Mass, would you? Tom's family is all Catholic, and I expect we'll be attending services with them. I'm afraid I don't know, though, if there are any special rules about what one must wear to a Catholic service."

Isobel reached out a hand to grab one of Sybil's, her thumb rubbing across the back of her hand. _Yes, my dear, you do still have a great deal to learn,_ the gesture seemed to say. _It must be rather overwhelming._

"I believe that it is best to always err on the side of modesty," Isobel replied, her tone hesitant, if diplomatic. "I had a grandmother who was Catholic, and she would occasionally take me to services with her, when I was a child. I don't remember much, except that she always carried her rosary with her, and would sometimes wear it hanging from her belt, over her skirts. She would let me hold it, if I liked, during the service."

"Right." _That doesn't tell me much. _

"You should probably ask Tom, for the best answer. It's been many years since then, and things may have changed," Isobel apologized.

"I will. Thank you," Sybil said, stepping back slightly and releasing Isobel's hand as Edith's footsteps approached.

"Was this the one you wanted?" Edith asked, holding the garment out to her sister.

Sybil nodded. "Thank you. I think it would do well with this skirt. What do you think?" she asked, putting the jumper next to the skirt to compare the two shades.

"I think it's enough of a contrast to look nice," Edith replied. "And it would look nice with the gray skirt, too, I think."

"I agree." Sybil put jumper on then, over her blouse. Turning to Isobel, she modeled it, turning slightly.

"Wait a moment –" Isobel said, her eyes focusing on the piece. "Stop and come here, dear. There's something not quite right on the sleeve here, just…"

Sybil raised her arm then, as Isobel was gesturing for her to do.

"Right. I thought so. There's a tiny hole here, which will only grow with wear. I didn't notice it at first, but when you turned the white of your blouse underneath caught my eye."

Sybil turned a sharp gaze to where Isobel was pointing. Sure enough, a tiny hole was just there, under the bottom side of the sleeve, just below the elbow.

"That is something that you do have to be careful of, with readymade clothing. Sometimes they aren't constructed as well. And while I'm sure that the proprietor of this store would hardly want to earn a reputation of selling poor quality garments, you must remember that here you're an average customer, and not the daughter of the local noble who is to be fawned over and only given the best."

Sybil's cheeks flushed slightly at this, but she nodded. "Yes, thank you," she said, bringing her eyes up to meet Isobel's gaze.

_How careless I am, and how used to being pampered,_ Sybil thought. _I'll make a right fool of myself in Dublin, if I'm not careful. I must learn to be more wise._

"Don't worry, it'll come," Isobel said, her words more softly this time, her hand coming to rest on Sybil's arms, her touch warm. "You'll learn, my girl. Every new bride has to, one way or another."

Sybil nodded once and gave Isobel a grateful smile. "It's just rather all overwhelming sometimes," she said. "And I don't wonder that Tom's family will probably think me enough of a fool as it is…."

At this a second hand fell on Sybil, this one at her shoulder. When she turned, warm brown eyes met hers.

"You're not a fool, Sybil. You're just….you're just learning to navigate in a different world. I suppose it might be a bit like when I was learning to drive. You know your destination, but it's tough to take the proper steps to get there sometimes."

This brought a smile to Sybil's face. Reaching out to put her other hand on her sister's waist, she spoke, her tone a little more confident. "Right. Though how ironic, I suppose, that the same man should teach us both!"

* * *

After finishing in the first store, where Edith and Sybil purchased two shirtwaists and three skirts, the party continued on to another shop, where Sybil found an everyday dress and a jumper that she liked. After this the group decided to stop in a nearby tea shop for lunch, all three of them hungry and hardly remembering their breakfast.

Once they placed their orders, Edith quickly turned the conversation back to Sybil's trousseau. "Now tell me what you still need. And don't forget that you'll also need things for the wedding. While I realize that you hardly require a bespoke gown from London, you still must have something nice to wear for your wedding."

Isobel brought her tea cup down from her lips then. "Have you thought about it, at all?"

Sybil pressed her lips together at this. _I have, or rather I had, I guess. Though all of this bit about the church may make it a bit more complicated. I suppose I really do need to talk to Tom, as soon as I can, and see what he advises._

"I have, a bit. I have some idea of what I would like, at least. Something in a cream, I think, that maybe has a detachable piece at the bottom. I suppose I would like a bit of a train, though they're terribly inconvenient. I could wear it for the wedding, and then take it off before the breakfast, if we have dancing."

"Many women have their dresses remade after, so they can wear it for good the next summer," Isobel said, suggesting something that she suspected probably hadn't occurred to Sybil or her sister.

Sybil took a sip of her tea. "I like that idea," she said. "After all, why have a dress made that you'll only wear once?"

Edith's eyebrows rose slightly at this. "Now you will have the dress made, won't you?" she asked, obviously not sure of the answer.

Sybil glanced to Isobel and then back to her sister. "I….I don't quite know. I suppose it would be nice, though I can hardly go to a dressmaker that knows Mama. It's not as if I would know how to do anything myself, of course. And I don't know how much time I'll have once we go to Dublin. We plan to be married, as soon as the bans are read, and I wouldn't want to be unprepared."

"I don't suppose you know how to adjust a hem even?" Isobel mused out loud then, her gaze falling on the younger Crawley sister.

Sybil flushed slightly. "No. It's rather odd, actually. I can stitch a wound, but I've never hemmed a dress," she said.

This brought a smile to Isobel's lips and an amused, if ladylike laugh, from her at the expression on Edith's face. "I think I can understand that," she mused. "Though I did learn to sew before becoming a nurse."

"We both learned how to needlepoint, from our governess," Edith said, trying to come up with something comparable. "Not that you were ever terribly patient with it…"

Sybil rolled her eyes at this and took another sip from her teacup. "That's hardly hemming a dress, dear. Heaven forbid our education should have ever consisted of something practical."

"Well, if you can pierce a needle into skin, then you can certainly hem a skirt. We'll try it, tonight, when we get back to the house. We'll practice on that one skirt that you purchased, the green. It could be shortened a few inches and no one would think anything of it. The hemlines are going up these days."

"Right."

At that moment their food appeared, interrupting their conversation. It resumed again a few moments later, when each had enjoyed a few bites of their luncheon.

"That still doesn't do anything for your problem of no wedding gown," Edith said, returning them to the topic they'd been discussing earlier. "You will need something to wear."

Suddenly an image popped into her head. _Where did I see that? There was a dress, I remember. An image of it, in a magazine, I think. But not one of Mary's. Indeed. It must have been…._

Giving herself a moment, she lifted a small piece of chicken onto her fork and popped it into her mouth. Chewing deliberately, she swallowed then, and allowed herself a smile.

"What?" Edith asked. "You've something in mind. I know that expression."

"Well?" Isobel answered, seeming nearly as curious as Edith.

Sybil smiled. "I _do_ think I know what I would like. It was a dress that I saw recently, in a magazine. It was simple enough, and I do think it could be worn again, as you suggest," she said, nodding to Isobel.

"One of Mary's?" Edith said, her tone a little flippant. Generally she and Sybil liked to tease Mary about her choice of reading material, which was decidedly a little more….simple….than her sisters'.

"No," Sybil replied calmly, cutting another tiny bite of chicken and placing it on her fork. "No, actually it just arrived in the post the other day, before we left. From New York. Grandmama sent it."

"Grandmama? Does she know you're engaged?" Edith asked, knowing as everyone in the Crawley family did that Sybil and her American grandmother seemed to share a special sort of bond.

"Not yet. But there's no harm in telling her, I don't think. She'll think it great fun to keep the secret, at least for a bit. And then she can brag afterward that she knew first." Sybil grinned at this.

Edith, however, rolled her eyes. "As if she needs ammunition. Really, Sybil. You know how incorrigible she is."

"Rather like me, don't you think?" Sybil said, batting her eyelashes at her sister playfully. "We rebels must stick together, you know."

Isobel laughed at this. "Be careful, or you'll start sounding like Matthew and Tom. They've really become quite the pair on this trip, I think."

Sybil smiled prettily at this and took a drink from her teacup. _And I'm so thankful. Matthew's so kind, and Tom so needs another friend. I wonder if he did show him his work, this morning. _Her cheeks flushed a bit then, thinking about the decided lack of conversation between her and Tom. Not that they didn't talk – but then again their quiet, stolen words in the bathroom were hardly about anything to do with Tom's work, or anything, past their love.

_Who would have thought a bathroom could be so…..sultry? I know Tom said that we'll not have one in Ireland, but so help me, if we're ever invited back to England, to visit either Downton, or Cousin Isobel, I dare say we might need to make use of it, properly,_ she thought, her eyes gazing out over Isobel's shoulder into the space. She shifted in her chair slightly.

"I'll not ask what put that silly expression on your face," Edith teased, catching Sybil's focused, if somewhat blank, stare.

Sybil laughed and turned to look at first Isobel, and then her sister. "What do you mean? I was just…"

"Staring off into nowhere thinking about Tom again, no doubt. You know, I had thought that you'd grown rather a bit more distant in the last few years. I always assumed, though, that there was something deep and serious behind your gazes. Now I'm pretty sure they're just nothing but thoughts of Tom," Edith continued.

"I can have serious thoughts that involve Tom!" Sybil protested prettily. "Besides – isn't a girl allowed to dream of her fiancé every now and then?" _…even if it does involve a bathtub?_

Edith took a bite then, chewed, and swallowed. "You do know how lucky you are, to have a man who loves you so?" she asked, her voice a bit quieter.

"I'm very lucky to have all of you," Sybil said then, placing her silver back on the table. One hand reached out to Isobel then, and the other to Edith.

Edith smiled at this warmly, squeezing Sybil's hand with her own.

"And Matthew too, of course," Sybil said, turning to face Isobel.

"Yes." Releasing Sybil's hand, she reached for the small watch pin she wore to check the face. "Now. Speaking of Matthew and Tom, I believe they were to visit Matthew's old office this afternoon. What would you say to stopping by for a quick visit there? There's another shop in their neighborhood that I think might have some things in it. We could go to the shop, and then stop by the office and see if we might be able to ride home all together. Then you could meet some of Matthew's colleagues as well. There are some very nice young men at his office."

"Of course," Edith said.

"Oh yes, let's," Sybil said, catching the look in her sister's eyes. "Yes. It would be nice to make the acquaintance of some of Matthew's friends."

* * *

_A few hours later….._

"They're in the back meeting room, Mrs. Crawley. I can show you through?" a pretty young secretary at the front desk of the law office said to the Crawley trio as they stood in the front room of Matthew's old firm.

"Oh, it's fine. I quite remember my way. It's just next to Matthew's former office, correct?" Isobel said, stepping confidently towards the door that separated the front room from the offices behind.

"Yes," the young woman responded.

"Right. Come on now, ladies," Isobel said, the heels of her shoes ringing out on the polished wooden floors.

In another moment the procession walked through the doorway into the room where the men had gathered. Isobel walked in first, and was greeted with a warm hug from one of the half dozen young men in the room. Kissing the man, who appeared to be Matthew's age, on both cheeks, she smiled and instantly began to ask after him and his family.

Sybil, meanwhile, instantly found Tom as she stepped into the room. He was standing by the far window, his jacket off, and a bit of ink of his fingers. He was smiling broadly at her, his body rather lax, his seemingly unending confidence radiating outward from him. Had Sybil glanced at the table in front of him she would have seen one of his articles out, ink marks littered across it. In that moment, though, she only saw her handsome fiancé, who looked quite at home with Matthew and his friends and former colleagues. Emboldened by the happy look on his face, she stepped across the room to where he was standing and greeted him by clasping one of his hands firmly in hers, and then refusing to release it.

So busy were both of the women that no one noticed the look on the face of the third as she walked into the room. And in that moment, she also failed to notice them. Indeed, all she saw then was a smiling face before her, with big brown eyes.

"Good afternoon," the face said boldly, stepping forward to grasp one of her hands. "You must be Lady Edith Crawley. Matthew and Tom told us you might be honoring us with your presence this afternoon after luncheon."

His voice was deep. The middle Crawley sister smiled at this, her expression a bit shy, if rather pleased. Gripping his hand perhaps a bit more firmly than normal, as she was unaccustomed to shaking hands with strange men, she felt her cheeks warm slightly.

"It….it's nice to meet you. I _am_ Lady Edith Crawley. And…"

"And I am Nicholas Townsend."

"Mr. Townsend."

So disarming were those eyes, in fact, that it took her another moment before she realized that she was still gripping his hand.

* * *

_So – what do you think about the idea of Edith getting to have some fun while in Manchester? I think she might be rather besotted by Mr. Townsend's brown eyes… Should he join in a Crawley/Branson adventure or two? Let me know in the comments!_


	38. A Chance to Celebrate

_The Forbidden Pleasure of Experiencing the Pieces Beginning to Slide into Place_

* * *

_In Isobel's Kitchen, Later that Afternoon_

Sybil reached up and traced her fingers across the back of Tom's neck, just above his collar. The nails caught his hair there, raking through the tiny dark blonde shoots that stood erect.

Her other hand, meanwhile, was sliding down him, down his side. She drank in the look in his eyes, the dark blue that seemed to be almost smoldering as her hands trailed lower and lower.

_This morning…._

_Mmmm._

She would have given nearly anything, then, to be back there again, and to have Tom before her in only his towel again. But not if it meant giving up the rest of the day. No. Never that. Not when there was a real chance now….

She let her hands slid around then, until the one had a nice handful of Tom's backside. Tugging slightly, she pulled him against her, neatly pinning herself between him and the corner of Isobel's kitchen.

"Syb –"

"Kiss me." It wasn't a question, it was a demand. In another moment he was.

Sybil moaned, letting the warmth of the kiss engulf her. She could feel the blood beating through her body, rushing up and down inside of her.

_It's funny, how your blood moves in your body,_ she thought cloudily as Tom pressed into her, nearly crushing her. _How it ends up in all of these peculiar places, and…._

In another moment he was lifting her up, setting her on the table. It took all of Sybil's restraint not to pull him down on top of her, right there. Instead she reached down to hike up her skirts slightly, thereby giving Tom room to step forward, closer.

Always, always closer.

They were both breathing short now, their mouths hungry, their hands searching. While hers were intent on moving down Tom, and teasing slightly around his legs, his were moving up her….up…up.

"Oh, please!" she murmured. "Please."

Tom said nothing, but gave his hands the free reign that she asked for, touching, teasing, kneading her.

"Yes!" she whispered, as his fingers sought the buttons of her dress there, at her neck. She nodded dumbly, her head falling back to give him all the space he sought.

It wasn't as if they hadn't done this before. It wasn't as if they hadn't done a great deal of it this morning, even, when both of them were wearing a great deal fewer layers. It wasn't as if Tom hadn't touched her there, before, going back as far as Christmas, even. And not a few times since. In his bed, for example, at Downton, when she'd gone to apologize to him, the night before they left for Manchester. Or even on Isobel's divan, the night before, when Sybil had raised an eyebrow and suggested that Tom might want to take her stockings off then, after all.

Yet each time was still different. This was different – this, now, here. Why? Neither of them could have told you in that moment, as they gasped and tasted and pulled and caressed. But it was.

Because they were moving forward. Each step, another step closer. Whether it was buying clothes (which also buttoned – or unbuttoned - down the front, Sybil remembered happily) that she would wear as Mrs. Branson, or whether it was hearing those words, being offered that glimmer of hope earlier, in Matthew's old office. Whatever it was….they were moving forward. And with each step, their future became more real.

_Dublin._

_Newspapers._

Soon.

* * *

_Earlier that Day, at Matthew's Former Office._

He felt his face darken ever so slightly when her fingers reached his, threading through his and squeezing them slightly before relaxing.

_A good morning? _

The expression in her eyes was a question that he wasn't quite sure how to answer. He wanted to kiss her, desperately, despite the fact that they were surrounded by a room of people – Matthew, his former colleagues, Cousin Isobel and Edith. He had to catch himself before he did, suspecting that even on such a day as this, it might be a little too much.

_A bit like this morning in the bathroom. God knows that was too much – too much and not enough all at once. Holy Mary….she…ugh. _

Tom bit back the sound in his throat. Trying to banish those thoughts from his mind – for now at least….there might be time to savour them later….he turned to smile at his fiancée.

"Did you have a good morning?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper. "I mean – after - you seem…"

Tom nodded, his eyes brightening and shifting eagerly from her to his papers, on the table, and then to her again.

"Aye. Very. We –" He broke off then, not quite sure where to even begin.

"Later," she said, giving Tom's hand another squeeze before turning her gaze to the man standing next to him who had just turned his gaze their way. "Will you introduce me?" she asked.

"Of course. Pardon me –" Tom turned then back to the rest of the room, hardly aware that he and Sybil had formed their own little group quite unintentionally. It just seemed so natural – the two of them pairing off and forming their own world, anywhere, anyplace. _But duty calls, I suppose. _ Nodding to the man closest to him, Tom cleared his throat. "Mr. O'Connell, may I present my fiancée, Lady Sybil Crawley."

Smiling green eyes met hers. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Crawley," the man said, smiling at her over her hand, which he took in his. He looked to be about Matthew's age, or perhaps a year or two older.

Sybil smiled in return. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. O'Connell. I am Sybil, though. Only Sybil."

_Only. My love, you could never be only anything…_ Tom thought, his eyes full of pride as he watched her. _You are everything all at once._

"Lady Sybil. Of course," the man replied, looking a trifle embarrassed as his eyes slipped from hers to Tom's.

Sybil shook her head ever so slightly. "No. Please forgive me for not speaking clearly. I prefer you to call me only Sybil, or Miss. Crawley, if you prefer. My title is….inconsequential. Unnecessary."

Tom bit his lips at this to keep back his laugh. _Inconsequential. Unnecessary. Only she could ever say that. The daughter of an Earl, yet she wants nothing more than to be normal. And with me - _

"And whom might I have the honor of addressing?" she asked prettily.

The man looked slightly sheepishly at Sybil, and then again at Tom. Tom shook his head ever so slightly. _That's Sybil. As disarming as the day is long, sometimes. And damned stubborn too._

"Edward O'Connell, ma'am. At your service."

Her eyes lit up slightly then, the combination of his voice and his name registering at once. "Mr. O'Connell! Well - it's very nice to meet you. You're a solicitor with the firm, then?" she asked, her pace quickening. She flashed her gaze then to Tom quickly, a question in her eyes.

_She's fishing. She knows he's Irish, but she can't just quite come out and ask. Too well trained. _The thought brought a smile to Tom's face. He had been a bit more transparent when he's realized this himself earlier, his smile instantly widening, his handshake perhaps becoming just slightly firmer. _It is good to hear someone with a Dublin accent again, even if he does live in England now,_ Tom had thought.

"Yes, Miss. Crawley. I have lived and worked in Manchester for a number of years. As my accent reveals, though, I have a great deal in common with both Mr. Crawley, and if I might be so presumptive, with Mr. Branson as well, as we are both Dublin men."

Blue gray eyes turned to meet Tom's then, this time for a longer moment. He was sure he looked amused then, waiting in eager anticipation for the other bit to come out. _ Just wait, love. Just - _

"How interesting! I am looking forward to seeing Dublin myself, in the near future, I do hope," Sybil replied, excitement audible in her voice, her words spilling out rapidly, with the slightly erratic pace of water tumbling over stones. "I've read a great deal about it, and of course Mr. Branson has been kind enough to tell me about it," she added, her glance going once more back to Tom, and then to Mr. O'Connell. "Does your father practice the law as well, if I might ask?"

Tom could feel his grin widen even more.

Mr. O'Connell tipped his head slightly at this, smiling slightly, his line of sight such that he likely saw Tom's grin behind her. "No. My father actually is a newspaper man. As is my older brother, Simon."

"Newspapers? How interesting!"

At this moment Tom's lips split, and his teeth began to show. _Yes, love! His father owns a newspaper, in Dublin! And he's …_

It had been all Tom could do to stop himself from crossing himself and muttering a fervent 'please God!' when he'd learned the same earlier.

_Please God._

_Please._

_Let them by loyal Irish._

_Let them be for freedom._

_Let them have an opening. Let them need another writer. Let this be my chance –_

_Our chance. _

_Ours._

_Oh God, please. If I've ever done anything descent, please…._

Sybil, though, turned quickly then to face Tom, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Newspapers! Mr. O'Connell's family is in newspapers, Tom!" she said excitedly. "In Dublin!"

Tom felt his free hand itching to find his pocket then. Blue eyes sparkled at Sybil, before meeting Mr. O'Connell's again for a brief moment. "I know. He's been kind enough this morning to read one of my articles," Tom said, his speech just a bit breathless at this, as if he couldn't quite believe what might be happening.

This brought Sybil's eyebrows up. "Really?" She turned back to Mr. O'Connell then, her every gesture animated. "And what did you think of Tom's writing?"

"He thought it quite well done, as do I," came Matthew voice as he wheeled himself over to where Tom, Sybil, and Edward were all standing. "I do agree that he needs a good editor, as you say," Matthew said, nodding to his cousin. "But his work is fine, and I believe it could easily appear in print."

"As do I," Edward agreed, his words causing Tom to smile then, a bit idiotically then, as he watched Sybil's face blossom into a wide smile.

"Well done, love, well done!" she said then, breaking all convention then by wrapping her arm around Tom's waist and pressing herself to his side to squeeze him.

Tom's arm wrapped around her shoulder then, having very few other places to go. _She's proud of me. Good God, what a woman. Here I stand, in Matthew's old office, speaking with one of his former colleagues, whose father owns a newspaper – in Dublin – and they're both telling me that I'm an acceptable writer. And above all, Lady Sybil Crawley is standing next to me, wrapping her arms around me, calling me love. In front of all of them. And celebrating, as if suddenly everything were…._

"Now you said that you've not been to Dublin, Miss. Crawley?" Edward asked her then, seeming to enjoy her obvious delight.

"No, not yet. But we do hope to go soon," she said quickly. "Tom grew up there, of course, but I've never seen it.

Matthew cleared his throat slightly. "As you might surmise, Mr. Branson is my cousin's fiancé. They plan to go to Dublin, marry, and live there, as soon as Mr. Branson has secured a position there," he continued.

"Ah." Edward nodded then, at Matthew. "And you hope to find work with a newspaper there, I presume?" he said, then turning to Tom.

"I do," Tom said, the words tasting sweet in his mouth, happy that Edward had asked, thereby saving him the task.

"Very good. While I cannot claim to have much authority in my father's operation in Dublin, I would be quite willing to recommend you to him…."

"Look at my sister!" Sybil hissed about twenty minutes later. Her hand squeezed Tom's arm as she said it, as she leaned in towards him. She was close enough that it was taking every ounce of the rapidly depleting store of resistance that Tom possessed to keep him behaving properly. _It's harder even than being separated from her at Downton, I think. We've been allowed to touch, so much, the last few days. And there are still days to come. Sweet days. Days full of her and maybe the promise of work and a way to Dublin and…._

He found himself replaying the words again. And again.

_A newspaper._

_In Dublin._

_Recommend you._

He felt it fanning bigger then, that flame inside. The flame that was hope. The same flame that he had alternatively nourished and attempted to extinguish many, many times, over the last few years. The flame that had been burning ever since he was young, but seemed to only grow in size and veracity, until he wondered sometimes if it might consume him.

_A newspaper._

_A newspaper man._

_Me. Writing. About politics. About –_

_I might –_

_Me. _

_Just maybe…._

_And then we can leave._

_Go._

_Home._

_To Dublin._

_With Sybil._

"Did you hear any of what I just said?" his fiancée scolded him then, bringing him back to the reality of where they were. Blue gray eyes flashed at him, a tease in their depths.

Tom smiled guilty and looked down at his shoes, like a little boy. When he brought his eyes up then, though, they only made it as far as her lips. "Sorry, love. I was…."

Sybil rolled her eyes at this playfully. Turning then, to check and see if anyone else in the room might be watching them, she surveyed its occupants. At that moment, no one was. Edward and Matthew had retreated through the door a moment ago, when a young secretary had come to announce that Mr. O'Connell's next appointment was here. Isobel was engaged in conversation with a young man near the far desk, and Edith seemed to be quite enjoying herself as she spoke to a man with curly brown hair.

Facing Tom in a way that only he could see her, Sybil let a finger tug at the edge of Tom's waistcoat then, her nail just grazing underneath, where his shirt was thin. "I know." A pink tongue darted out then to moisten her lips in a gesture that appeared to be nearly – almost – innocent. "Don't worry, love. We can talk more about Dublin later….and perhaps celebrate a bit…"

Tom's jaw clenched at this, and the tiniest sound emanated from his throat. "You will be the death of me!" he hissed quietly, his eyes once more on Sybil's wet, pouting lips.

She grinned wickedly. "Yes, but if you had to choose a way to go…."

"Minx."

It was a happy curse.

Before either of them could continue, though, a laugh rang out from the other side of the room, bright and happy.

Recognizing the sound as rare, though familiar, Sybil's attention instantly turned to the other side of the room. Her face melted into a smile, then, at what she saw.

Edith was standing near the room's second window, the light streaming in darkening her profile slightly. She looked to be deep in conversation with a man who was watching her intently, his body language such that he seemed entirely focused on her.

_Which is probably quite rare._

Tom knew that as an employee of the Crawley family, he was hardly supposed to think such things. But like anyone else who had spent any time at Downton, he'd watched the drama of the Crawley sisters play out for years, and had watched with varying degrees of amusement and concern as the personalities of the three sisters collided on occasion. He'd been a bit amused, and then somewhat saddened, at how Edith had relished her driving lessons years before, as if it were the first thing over which she'd ever had control of in her life.

_Mary's always the center of attention – the princess of the castle. And then Sybil of course does what she wishes, largely – thank God. But Edith – she's lodged in the center, not quite sure of her next move, it seems._

_What a family I'm marrying into. Good God. I can only imagine what it will be like, trying to navigate among them, from inside._

_Still, if we are ever allowed back, I hope that I can be a friend to her._

"She looks rather happy," Tom said, watching his fiancée as she watched her sister.

Sybil turned to smile at him. "She does," she said quietly.

Neither spoke for a long moment, Sybil watching Edith, and Tom watching the two of them.

The brown haired gentleman said something, then, which prompted an enthusiastic response from Edith. She gestured into the air, her fingers grazing the coat of her conversation partner.

Both Sybil and Tom watched with amusement as Edith's face registered the touch half a second later. Her eyes fell to his arm, where her fingers had just brushed a moment earlier. It took her a moment to be able to raise them again, her cheeks pink.

Tom reached down then and let his own hand brush against Sybil's waist, at her back. She gave no sign of having felt it, the touch lost in the bindings of her corset. Yet it brought a pleasure to Tom nonetheless.

"I think Cousin Isobel wants us," she murmured a moment later, as Isobel turned towards them and nodded slightly.

They both stepped forward then, towards Isobel and the man she had been talking to.

"May I present Lady Sybil Crawley, my husband's cousin."

Sybil smiled as this next round of introductions began, this time with Michael, the socialist that Matthew had told Tom about. They chatted amicably for a bit, Michael and Tom having sized each other up earlier and deciding that the other seemed quite intelligent for his political opinions.

"It is so nice to be back with all of you," Isobel finally said, beaming as she looked about the room. "I do wish that we were closer to home. It's such a shame that our time here has to be so short." She paused here, her gaze flickering to Edith, and then to Tom and Sybil, who were both wearing hopeful smiles full of sunshine. "I know. We'll all have a nice dinner party. At our house. On Friday evening. Then we can enjoy each others' company again, for an evening. To celebrate old friendships, and new. "

Tom felt Sybil stiffen then slightly, her eyes getting a trifle bigger.

_You'll be fine. Isobel wouldn't plan it if she didn't think you couldn't do it._

Tom found himself wishing in that moment that she could read his mind, and take some reassurance in it. He reached out for her then, once more grasping her hand in his and giving it a tiny squeeze.

She squeezed back, her gaze calming slightly, as it went from Tom back to the doorway, where Edward had just walked back in.

Seeing him, Sybil relaxed a bit. She turned to Tom then, and gave him a slightly crooked, if happy, smile.

"Yes. Of course. So we might continue our conversations from today."

* * *

_Back In the Kitchen_

"Mmm." She was biting her lip now, in the attempt to keep herself silent. "Tom…" she whimpered, watching him as his mouth came into her view again, beginning to cross the border where her white skin ceased to be neck, and became chest.

She breathed deeply, feeling the fingers of his hand flex on her leg, quite a few inches above her knee.

"Tom – we – we should probably get the tea started – " she gasped, her voice breathy. "If we're to have everyone for dinner on Friday, I suppose I should at least be able to – to make a descent tea with being -– God that feels good – we- if anybody comes down and….mmmm."

Tom silenced her with his lips on hers again. The kiss was rough, hard.

"I know. I know," he said, finally pulling back, though his hands were still on her. "I know. It just…."

"I know," she said. "It – what happened today- it might be our –"

"…our opportunity," Tom said, not a little breathy himself. His eyes closed then, and he sighed, his body going a trifle limp. "I know. If …if…then we can go, and…."

"Uh huh," she said, kissing him again, this time shorter, a tease. She grinned against his lips.

"What?" he said, as she pulled her head back from his, only to move it so her lips were next to his ear.

"And then," she said, her hot breath tickling him, the heat turning his ears pink. "And then….you can marry me, and we can _really_ celebrate."

* * *

_And the ball rolls_


	39. Playing Dress-Up

_This chapter is for piperholms and The Yankee Countess, in honor of June 7 being declared Sybil and Tom's anniversary. While it's certainly not a wedding night fic, we will learn a bit about something Sybil plans for it…._

_If anyone's interested, it's still Wednesday at this point, and everyone is finishing their dinner around the Crawley table. There will still be a few more chapters before we reach Friday night's dinner party, including both some fluff and another very serious discussion._

* * *

The laughter started well before Tom ever made it to the first floor. It had started, in fact, at dinner, when Isobel had suggested the plan quite calmly, as she was about to take a bite of her chicken.

"What do you gentlemen have planned for the evening?" she had asked, her tone carrying a hint of a suggestion in it.

Matthew immediately raised an eyebrow as he gazed at his mother over his wine glass. Taking a large swallow, he held her eyes, knowing that look. "Whatever you wish, I suspect," he replied dryly.

"I thought that I might request Tom's help, if you two hadn't planned anything."

At this Matthew grinned and looked across the table at his future cousin-in-law. _Have fun!_ his look seemed to say.

Tom smiled, chewed, and swallowed. _Exactly like my mother. Now that I think about it, in fact, I rather think that she and Isobel are pretty similar. _"How may I be of service?" he answered, smiling at Isobel with a glint of amusement in his eye.

"I need your help teaching the girls a new skill," Isobel began, breaking Tom's gaze to look at first Edith, and then Sybil. "As you know, we did some shopping this morning, and Sybil and Edith purchased some nice new things for Sybil to wear when you move to Ireland."

Tom nodded. "Aye," he said, reaching for his wine glass and swirling it slightly in his hand, the gesture suggesting perhaps a hint of uncertainty, escalated by Matthew's knowing smirk.

"One of the skirts that we purchased is too long, and I thought I would show the girls how to take out the hem, and take it up. It's a practical skill that every woman should have," Isobel continued.

Tom nodded, and noticed Sybil doing the same out of the corner of his eye. "So how might I be of help in this?" he asked, carefully avoiding any eye contact with Matthew, whose blue eyes were shining above the serviette he held at his lips.

Isobel, ever the pragmatist, forged onward. "The trouble is, I would like both of the girls to be able to work on the skirt, together. I will need to be helping them, of course. The trouble is, the dress form that I occasionally make use of is at Downton, so I'm afraid that we will have to trouble you to assist us."

Tom's blue eyes narrowed slightly. His hand tightened on the wine glass. "Meaning…."

"Meaning that we'll need you to stand in."

"For?" Tom's question was lost, though, as at this point, Matthew began to laugh, the chuckle rising from deep in his chest from behind his serviette, which was now being returned to the table. Shaking his head, he shot Tom one very amused look.

Tom's eyes closed at the confirmation of Matthew's laughter. His face starting to pink, he laughed a bit nervously. "I'm to…"

A snort came from the other end of the table, escaping despite Edith's best effort. One hand rested feebly on her mouth, trying to quell the laughter, though upon seeing everyone else's reaction, she soon gave up and joined in with considerable gusto.

Sybil, for her part, was attempting to laugh without turning bright red, as the first thought that crossed her mind, involving Tom being inside of her skirt, was a bit different from the others at the table. She coughed slightly, reaching for her glass and taking a very deep draught of wine, hoping everyone would chalk her colour up to the fact that she had had a bit too much to drink.

"So?" Isobel inquired, shooting her son a dirty look.

Tom's eyes opened slowly. He met her gaze across the table. "I sup…."

"Oh, come on, Tom. You know you've always wanted to," Matthew teased loudly. "G –"

"Ahem!" Sybil's coughing fit escalated then, as the wine in her mouth began to burn her nostrils as it shot up into her sinuses and nearly out of her white, aristocratic nose.

Her blue gray eyes wide, she gave Matthew an incredulous stare, hoping she looked shocked enough to will him into silence.

Meanwhile Edith was watching Tom with great amusement, as he gave Matthew a murderous look. A cleared throat at the end of the table eventually forced his gaze back to Isobel.

"I would be happy to help," he said, through teeth that he was working very hard not to grit. "Of course."

"Right! Well, as soon as we're done then, you can go upstairs and put it on, and as soon as we've finished with the washing up, we'll get to it, then," Isobel declared.

Tom bit back a groan as grinning blue eyes met him from across the table.

* * *

When Tom hit the landing on the stairs, his feet automatically slowed. Wresting his eyes off the wallpaper before him, he forced his lips into a tight smile as the whistle cut through the air.

Isobel stood in the background at the bottom of the staircase, her hands full of a measuring stick, thread, and a thickly stuck pin cushion as she shook her head, watching the scene with amusement.

Matthew sat at the front, his fingers in his mouth as he continued to whistle at Tom, who looked like he simultaneously wanted to spit on and laugh at his friend. Sybil's arms were crossed over her chest, and she was giggling. Edith was shaking her head, her eyebrow arched in good Crawley fashion. "It's a shame I didn't think to bring the brownie with me that you gave me for Christmas," she drawled, her gaze flickering from Tom to Isobel, and then back to Tom. "It would be quite funny if there was evidence of this to take home."

"I don't think that's necessary," Tom sputtered. He stood still for a moment, looking as though he wanted to jump down the rest of the stairs and flee out the front door.

"Carson would have a fit!" Sybil laughed, terribly amused at the visual image in her mind of a photo of Tom, in his current state, being passed around the downstairs table at Downton Abbey. "You might have to leave early, just to save your dignity," She teased.

Tom shook his head, a grin beginning to itch on his lips. Propping one hand on his hip, which only added to the funniness of his current look, he caught Sybil's gaze and laughed. "You and I really do make quite a team. You wear pants, and now I'm standing here in your bloody skirt…."

If Tom had been worried that Isobel might take offense at his curse, he had no reason. She laughed at this. "How funny! I'd forgotten about that…"

This brought a curious look from Edith. "When did you see her in those?" she asked Tom, clearly intrigued at this part of the story, which she'd not heard.

Tom grinned guiltily and glanced at Sybil. "I happened to be fortunate enough to walk past the drawing room window, just as she came in before dinner," he explained, his brogue slightly thickening as he confessed this early transgression.

Sybil turned to smile at her sister, her hands reaching out to strike the same pose again that she had that night.

Edith turned an incredulous expression towards Tom. "You were sweet on her then?" she asked, clearly shocked.

Tom shrugged slightly. "We were friends."

Edith rolled her eyes at Tom's attempt at an innocent tone. "Good Lord. You've had it for her since they day you set foot at Downton!" she exclaimed.

Tom flushed slightly and turned to meet his fiancee's eyes. "Well…"

"I had told Tom about the frock, when we were in the motor," Sybil remembered, smiling at the memory. "He knew that it was something different, but I wouldn't tell him exactly how."

"And when I teased her about it, she told me to come and see for myself," Tom responded nonchalantly, is if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to be sneaking around to spy on the family when he'd only been at Downton a short time.

Edith moaned slightly. "Good Lord," she said again.

A brief silence fell then. Dark blue eyes skimmed the room then, as if taking the pulse of it. Tom's lips opened again, but this time he hesitated. Catching Sybil's gaze again, he lifted an eyebrow. _And not just your pants, as I remember. Should I relate the story of how you ransacked my cottage, to steal a pair of my trousers, so you could attempt your bicycle ride?_

She grinned, knowing he wouldn't. _But oh, what fun it was…._

* * *

"Turn." Isobel's finger spun as she looked up at Tom from her seat on the floor.

Dutifully following her instructions, Tom stepped around to the left, only to be halted.

"No, no, come back. You only need to turn about half of that. We're working in inches, not feet," Isobel mumbled, her brow slightly wrinkled in concentration.

Tom resisted the urge to sigh. Sybil and Edith were both seated next to Isobel on the floor, and they both looked a bit perplexed. They'd been working at the skirt for awhile now, first clipping the original stitching out (with Tom in the skirt, creating a rather funny scene that involved scissors getting a bit too close to his trouser legs for his comfort). At one point an exasperated Sybil and turned her face up to give him a dirty look, telling him that if he wasn't careful and didn't stop moving, she's being stitching his legs back up, instead of the dress. He'd bitten back a response about how she would likely have much more success with that sort of endeavor, not sure in that moment that she'd see the humor in his comment. As the scissors in her hand had looked quite sharp, he decided that for once, he would stay silent.

"Now. Using the measuring stick, we'll mark the turn that we want in inches from the floor, so it's consistent all the way around."

Both Crawley sisters nodded, but neither reached for it. "You begin," Isobel said, handing Edith the measuring stick.

Crouched down at Tom's feet, Edith looked determinedly at the dress' bottom. Turning to look at the pin cushion and grab a pin, she temporarily neglected the long measuring stick, only to have it sway rather close to Tom's front.

"Watch out!" The words escaped his lips before he could stop them, his voice shrill with panic. Matthew, who caught exactly what almost happened, began to laugh then. Meanwhile all three women on the floor all looked up then, obviously startled at Tom's sudden outburst.

Sybil, of course, figured it out first. "Edith!" Sybil said, turning to give her sister a dirty look. "Be careful!"

Blank brown eyes opened slightly wider, their look completely innocent. "What?" she asked, clearly confused. "What'd I do?"

Behind Sybil, Isobel smirked slightly. "I think perhaps you should be a bit more careful with that stick, Edith," Isobel said.

"What?" Edith asked again, looking blankly from Isobel to Tom, who was rather flushed now, and back.

When neither spoke, Edith instead turned to Sybil for an explanation. Sybil, meanwhile, was doing an excellent job of examining the floor as she bit her bottom lip near to shreds in an attempt to keep back her laughter.

"What'd I do? You're all acting like I just nearly killed Tom, and all I did was accidently move the stick a bit…." As she was speaking she inadvertently moved it again, the movement violent enough to make Tom take a step to the side, his hands opening and closing at his sides as he fought the urge to move them around his body.

"Holy Mother of –" he cursed, giving Edith a dirty look.

"I don't…." Suddenly she stopped then, and looked up at Tom. It was if a light had been turned on then, in her mind, realization dawning on her suddenly of what she'd nearly done. Her eyes widened then, and her mouth dropped quite open, as a look of first horror, and then embarrassment, passed onto her face.

She glanced to Sybil then, and to Isobel, and then back to the feet in front of her, her eyes now incapable of rising any further up Tom's body. She coughed then, feebly, and scrambled to her feet in a very unladylike fashion. "I need a drink of water," she said then, hurrying quickly out of the room.

Matthew was now nearly bent double in his chair, while Sybil and Tom blushed darkly and Isobel shook her head. "Perhaps we should tell her that she might want to be more careful, should she ever wish to be an aunt?" she chirped sarcastically.

Sybil turned wide open light blue gray eyes to stare at her cousin and mentor, a bit taken aback by her comment.

"Well?" Isobel said, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "We are nurses, my dear," she offered as her only explanation. She picked up the measuring stick from where Edith had dropped it. "Now, you try, my dear. I think you'll be a bit more careful."

_My God. And I always thought that Old Lady Grantham was the plain spoken one,_ Tom thought, looking down at his red fiancée, who was attempting to compose herself, her eyes riveted on the hem before her as though her life depended on it.

Once everyone calmed back down, Sybil began to slowly place the pins in the skirt, making her way around it. Tom, for his part, worked terribly hard at behaving himself, only wincing slightly when one of the pins accidently went through his trouser leg as well, causing Sybil to flinch and apologize quickly.

The only other awkward moment came when Tom turned back to face Sybil, so she could finish placing the pins at the front. As luck would have it she chose to shift then, as her limbs not used to be cramped up on the floor in this awkward position. Unfortunately, she began to sit up taller just at this moment, only to quickly drop back to the floor again, her face slightly red, her lips pursed together tightly.

"There. Now, that looks quite nice. Next we'll have Tom take the skirt off, and then we can cut a line just underneath the pins then, to begin shortening it," Isobel instructed.

Tom, happy to oblige, reached his hands around to the back of the skirt then, to unfasten the clasp. Wiggling his hips slightly, he stepped out of the green fabric, which billowed into a pool at his feet.

Matthew's eye caught his then, and he listed an eyebrow suggestively. Tom, making sure his back was turned to Isobel, shot him a dark look to suggest that he should keep his thoughts to himself. _Though I suspect we all know what they are,_ he thought, more embarrassed than annoyed.

"Now, it's easiest to do this part on a table, so you have a surface to hold the weight of the fabric, whilst you cut," Isobel explained, moving to stand up.

Tom turned just in enough time to see her beginning to rise, and offered her a hand. She took it, smiling at him. "I used to be much better at getting up and down, I'm afraid," she said, looking slightly disgusted at herself for her slowness.

When Isobel was at her feet tom then turned to Sybil. Bowing, he reached for her hand. "Milady," he said, his tone sweet.

"You're terrible," Sybil scolded him as she smiled, holding onto his hand firmly.

"I know," Tom retorted, helping her rise and then kissing her hand before he let it go.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed in slightly more subdued fashion, Sybil laboring long and hard in the attempt to circle the bottom of her skirt with tiny, if somewhat crooked, stitches.

Tom congratulated her in good fashion when she finally finished, placing a kiss on her forehead and his hand at her shoulder as he stood behind her, watching as she held up the skirt triumphantly from her seat where she'd been working at the table. Isobel and Edith praised her as well, with Matthew adding in his own words of encouragement from the sideline.

"Why don't you try it on for us, love?" he suggested, nodding to the stairs.

Bright blue gray eyes met his then and she smiled. "Yes, I think I will," she said quickly, standing and making her way up the stairs with a spring in her step, the skirt draped over her arm.

In another few moments she reappeared. Dressed in one of the simple shirtwaists and the green skirt, she looked every inch the average women.

No one in the room, though, would have even dreamt of calling her such, though, as she stood confidently before them, dressed for her coming role.

_She truly is extraordinary,_ Tom thought, watching her as she walked about the room, modeling her work. _So proud to learn each and every new skill, no matter how simple._

At this point Isobel had suggested a celebration, mentioning the fact that they'd not cut into the cake she'd purchased on their way home, earlier. This brought the family members back to the table again, to enjoy a sweet treat before going upstairs.

Eventually the conversation began to wane as cake and tea was consumed. Matthew eventually asked Tom to help him upstairs, while Edith and Isobel washed up the dishes and Sybil cleared the table.

By the time Tom came back from helping Matthew into bed, Edith and Isobel had gone up as well, leaving Tom and Sybil the opportunity to spend some quiet time by themselves.

"I'm terribly proud of you, you know," Tom said, as he walked back into the parlor, where Sybil was standing before the dying fire. "So proud."

She smiled at this, a pretty pink blush of pleasure on her cheeks. "Thank you," she responded back, her voice low.

Watching Tom, she said nothing for a moment, before giggling and stepping closer to him. "You know, you could say that you've been in a skirt yourself twice today, I think," Sybil teased Tom, her hand reaching out to pull him closer. "First this morning, and then this evening," Sybil remarked flirtatiously, her upturned eyes gazing at him through the mask of her lashes. "I do think I prefer you in trousers, though, as a rule."

Hands reached around her then, and pulled her into an embrace, with one of them continuing to slide. Squeezing her bum, Tom nodded. "I agree. Skirts cover far too much. I think you'd be much happier without one," he said, his voice low and quite suggestive.

_Without a skirt…._ Sybil's face flooded red, her lips spreading into a grin. _Ugh. What – uh. The thought of being with him, when we're in Dublin…. _Not for the first time, her mind conjured up what it might be like with Tom. Together, finally, as they had never been, no limits, no stopping. Just the two of them….her in a white gown, him probably in his pyjamas, at least to begin…

Quite suddenly, it came to her. _Perfect. Absolutely perfect. For our wedding nigh. I'm sure that Grandmama will have them made, if I send her a letter. God knows it's probably not the sort of thing that most granddaughters ask their grandmother's for, before their wedding, but she'll do it, I have no doubt. I can write her tomorrow, and ask her for both the dress, and for …later. He'll adore them, I'm sure. A pair of silk pyjamas, made like my harem outfit. Except this time, the silk will be white, diaphanous…._

She was grinning, now, widely. Pulling her head back, she gave Tom quite possibly the sauciest look he'd ever seen her wear.

"What?" he said, his eyes dark with desire and a hint of humor.

She giggled. "Oh, nothing," she said, reaching out a hand to finger nail to trail down his jaw line.

"Nothing?"

Sybil turned her head and pursed her lips prettily. "Oh….I was just thinking about what else I'll need to have ready for my wardrobe, before we leave," she said, her tone suggestive, low.

"For?"

She grinned, obviously quite pleased with herself.

"Our wedding…"

Blue eyes darkened, widening slightly, as if willing the next word from her.

"Night."

* * *

_Ok, I've been planning this for quite awhile, and I finally had to write it! I'm sorry…for all of the lovely wedding night fics out there in which Sybil's wearing some flowing gown…..it just didn't quite fit in my mind. I can just imagine the grin on Tom's face when she walks into their room that night, after their wedding, a self-satisfied smile on her face, in silken pyjamas._


	40. Faith for the Future

_The Forbidden Pleasure of Faith_

_Thanks again to everyone who keeps reading this fic and favoriting it. We're now at forty chapters, which is about four times as many as I thought I'd be writing, originally. And at the rate we're going, we may end up with half of this fic taking place during this one week in Manchester…._

_For those of you who are keeping track, it's now Thursday morning. _

* * *

"Good morning."

Blue eyes met blue gray across the small kitchen and smiled.

"Good morning." It only took Tom a few strides to cross the room to where she stood, next to the stove. She was wearing the skirt that she'd taken up last night, and a simple shirtwaist. For some reason she'd left her hair down that morning, letting the curls fall over her shoulders as if she were a young girl again, not yet out in society.

"Your rose," Tom said, reaching out to hand her a pink blossom.

Sybil smiled. Turning, she gestured with her empty hand to the clip that held some of her hair back. "Tuck it in, right there," she said.

Following her instructions, Tom tucked the rose into her hair. Judging it to be secure, he let his hand run down her curls then, caressing the brown strands.

"It's still a bit damp," she said. "It normally dries by morning, but it didn't last night, for some reason." She turned as she spoke, reaching out to give Tom a warm, if relatively chaste, kiss on his lips.

"I like it down," he said, playing with a few of the curls that hung down her shoulders.

A smile played on her lips, a memory in her mind. "I wore my hair down a lot, when we first met," she said softly.

"Aye, you did," Tom responded. He paused. "And you let me take it down once, too," he said, remembering that cold night she'd come to his cottage after her shift at the hospital.

"Does it make me look too young?" she said, her eyes flickering with the question.

"You are young," he said, his hand coming up to cradle her cheek, his thumb caressing the skin there, so white, so smooth.

Tipping her head forward then, slightly, Tom placed a reverent kiss on her forehead. "And you'll be beautiful when you're old, too. When we're both old and wrinkled, with spots and lines. I can't imagine a better life than growing old with you."

When Sybil brought her eyes back up to Tom's, there was joy, but also a hint of something else in them.

Seeing it, Tom's own face wrinkled into a frown. "What's wrong, love?" he asked anxiously, concerned.

"How…and I'm not saying that we won't, because of course we will. But how will we get married, Tom? I mean, you're Catholic, and I'm not and I'm not sure if that's …allowed… in Ireland?"

Tom breathed out heavily. "How long as this been worrying you?" he asked quietly.

Sybil bit her bottom lip, her gaze falling, obviously embarrassed. "I was thinking about it yesterday – the Catholic Church, I mean, when we were shopping. I realized that I don't know what Catholic women wear, in church. I meant to ask you, but in the excitement of everything that happened at Matthew's office, it slipped my mind, and I didn't think about it again, until last night, when I was trying to get to sleep."

"And did you sleep?" Tom asked, noticing for the first time the lavender under Sybil's eyes.

She nodded against his hand. "I did, after awhile. But I dreamt about it…that we tried to go to a church to get married, and we weren't allowed in. I suppose I should have thought of it earlier, but…"

"Come here," Tom said, his voice barely a whisper, as he opened his arms and pulled her in to them, so she was leaning against him fully, her head cradled in the hollow of his neck. One hand held her tightly while another smoothed the hair that hung down her back.

"We'll be able to marry love, have no fear. Even if we can't be married in a church, we'll be able to get a license and be married at a registrar's office, at least. I promise you that."

"But that's not what your family…."

"What my mother wants is not important. It's what we want that matters. And if we are married before a registrar, our marriage will be no less legal than anyone else's."

He felt her nod, but she made no other attempt to move or to say anything.

"If you'd like to have a priest marry us, we can. Not all priests might, but we'll find one who will, and we can be married in a small chapel somewhere, if you like. We won't be able to have a full Mass, but that doesn't matter to me."

She pulled back then, a little, so she could see his expression again, try to read his thoughts.

He noticed with concern that her eyes were starting to fill a bit.

"Will your family hate me?" she asked, her voice trembling now, the tears about to spill.

In the next moment they did, down the front of Tom's shirt, as he pressed her back firmly to him, murmuring comforting words and sounds into her year in both English and Gaelic. He held her and let her cry, feeling her body finally relax against his finally as her tears began to slow.

She finally pulled back then, a few moments later, her hand coming up to her nose, which was threatening to run.

She sniffed loudly. Tom reached into his pocket and retrieved a plain white handkerchief, which she gratefully took and used.

"I just…I don't want your family to dislike me. And if we can't be married in the church, or if I'm not even allowed in one…"

Tom shook his head, eager to dispel at some of her fears. "You can go in love. Anyone can. It doesn't matter if you're Catholic or Protestant or Hindi. Anyone can go into a Catholic Church. It's just that church law forbids anyone taking part in a sacrament in the church, if you're not Catholic."

"Marriage is a sacrament," she said, her voice still trembling slightly.

Tom nodded, one of his hands running up and down her arm, the other resting at her waist. "Aye. But you can be married without having a full Mass, without the Eucharist. But it has to be in a place where the Host isn't held."

"Why?"

Tom shook his head. "Because Protestants don't acknowledge the Host as the body of Christ."

Sybil looked slightly confused at this, and then frustrated. "You'd think we'd be more similar, both being Christians."

_Except that the Church doesn't see it that way,_ Tom thought, biting back the words, knowing that they would only cause Sybil more consternation in her current mood. _And it's not as if I believe it myself,_ he added dryly.

Sybil took a deep breath and looked up to face Tom straight on. Her fingers gripped his handkerchief tightly, wringing it between her fingers.

"Would you like me to convert?"

This was not something Tom had expected. His eyes widened slightly. Truth be told, he saw his own faith, weak as it was, sometimes, as a part of his Irish identity. He didn't believe that Catholics were any more godly than Protestants, or anyone else. Yet when pressed, he knew that he would always remain Catholic, because it was a part of who he was, as an Irishman.

"I don't expect you to."

Blue gray eyes blinked. Her voice was steadying now, her eyes open, honest, seeking. "I know that. But that's not what I asked. Would you _like_ me to?"

Tom turned to look at the window, where the first light of the morning was beginning to come in. _It would make it easier. _The thought came to him, unbidden, and he found himself half ashamed of it as it settled in his mind.

"You don't have to. You're already giving up so much, Sybil. You don't need to change your faith, too."

Oddly, now it was she who seemed calmer than Tom. "Don't say that," she said, her tone shifting to slightly scolding. She brought one of her hands up, then, to his lips, and pressed on them, as if silencing a child. "I'm not _giving up_ anything, Tom. I'm marrying you of my own free will and desire. I am making a choice, and from where I stand, I have little to lose and everything to gain by it," she said, determination and confidence beginning to write themselves gradually on every inch of her body, and in her gaze. "And secondly, I wouldn't be changing my faith. Only my creed."

Tom seemed startled a bit by her determination. _How quickly she goes from uncertainty to calm. _He looked at her, seeing her then, in the church where he'd grown up.

"It is a process, to convert. If you wanted to. It's generally frowned upon, for Protestants to convert to Catholicism."

"By the Catholics? Or the Protestants?"

_By the English._ "By the Protestants, mostly. Though some Catholics view them with suspicion, too."

"Because?"

"Because it was once, illegal, years ago. And because Catholics and Protestants generally don't…associate….much in Dublin."

"You mean there's fighting," Sybil said, seeing and intentionally shattering Tom's polite turn of phrase.

Tom nodded curtly at this, watching her with a slightly concerned gaze, his blue eyes a little darker than normal, and perhaps just a touch chagrined.

"Would people think it odd?"

_Do you mean would my family think it odd?_ For the moment, though, Tom decided he'd play along. "Yes, they might. But then again, we're hardly normal," he said, raising one eyebrow.

Sybil smiled at this, her hand moving slightly on his chest, causing the fabric of his waistcoat to wrinkle slightly. "That's true," she agreed, with a small smile.

"Would it be wise?"

_She doesn't ever stop._ Yet Tom couldn't fault her for it. He loved her determination, even if it did come in to conflict with his own, every now and then.

Knowing the tone of her voice, Tom decided to opt for pure honesty, with no fancy dressing. Catching her gaze again, he nodded his head slowly. "It might."

"Right. Because…"

"Because it's what's expected, among us. You might be English, and even if we don't tell everyone who your family is, exactly, they'll know from your accent that you're at least middle class, if not an aristocrat. You can't control that – not that I'm asking you to. I fell in love with Sybil Crawley, the daughter of an English Lord, and I intend to marry that same Sybil Crawley, because I love her more than my own life," Tom said, his tone very serious. "But I will tell you that everyone we will associate with is likely to be Catholic. My family, certainly, all is." _And while they will never come to see you as Irish, even if you live the rest of your life there, the truth is that at least they might come to see you as a Catholic, and therefore somehow less English. _Moistening his lips slightly, he resumed speaking. " And, it might be wise for you as well, because of your work. Most of the hospitals in Dublin are Catholic."

Sybil nodded, her eyes drifting down. When they came back up, there was a hint of steel in them. "Would you like me to convert?"

_Yes._ He couldn't say it, though. Not without sounding like the sort of man that he'd always told himself he'd not be. _I won't ask her to be something that she's not. I never have. I've only ever asked her to have the courage to be herself, and to do what she wants to._

He knew it was terribly arrogant, but he honestly believed that. Even at York, when he'd shocked her so by proposing to her, he'd always believed that the reason he'd done it was not only because he loved her, desperately, but because _he truly believed that what she wanted best was him._

_I am her choice._

_I am._

_I will love her as no one else ever could._

_I _do_ love her as no one ever will._

"Sybil…."

"Tell me, Tom. Would it be best." It was a question, but the words had the authority, the heavy percussive quality, of a statement.

"You'd…"

"Tom." Her hands were on his cheeks now, holding his face so that he was nearly forced to meet her eyes.

"Would it be –"

"Yes."

Silence fell over the room then.

_Did I just let her down? But she asked for honesty. Just as she did the other night. Honesty. And that's what I can give her._

"Yes. It would, I think. My…I know that it would make it easier with my family."

A flash of uncertainty flashed in her eyes then, followed by determination.

"Then I will."

"Your father will hate it."

He nearly bit his tongue, then. _Fucking fool._ He cursed himself mentally. _Yes. Add to her troubles. Remind her that she may well be cast off from her family soon, and this will only be seen as adding to her list of sins. Another reason to never accept us back, into the family._

"My father hates a lot of things." Her words were deliberately measured.

_Including us. Or he will, when he learns the truth._

The thought, as always, made Tom's stomach turn. It was odd…he used to imagine what it would be like, taking Sybil's hand and announcing to her parents their intentions. He had always known that it would be hard, that it was quite likely that they would never quite forgive them, or at least him, for it. The difference, though, was that while he had played out that scene in his mind many times, it was never closer to actually taking place than it was now, right now. Now, when he might be on the cusp of work. Now, when Sybil was doing all she could to prepare herself for their move. Now, when his mother likely held his last letter in her hand, finally knowing the truth, the full truth, about her son's intended.

_First her family, and then mine. Please God, let us have some family let, by the end. Let it not be the severing of one tie, only to be followed by another. Please let her understand, let her see, let her accept us._

Tom had always believed, to an extent, that their families would eventually accept this union. Whether it was out of desperation, or blind faith, he never knew. But as the day grew nearer, he found himself wondering more and more about his own mother, and what she might say.

_At least we have Isobel, and Matthew, and Edith. What a funny family we make._

There was no way around it – they were an odd sort. Two sisters, a mother and son, their distant cousins, and their chauffeur.

_Former chauffeur. Newspaper man. Almost._

It was rather amazing, just how much these last few days had changed his view, yet again, of members of the Crawley family. How he suddenly felt as though he had found a true friend in Matthew, his lordship's heir.

_I suppose we make our own families, when we must. They're alone, in a sense, and so is Edith, and we certainly are…._

Tom looked at Sybil again, then, and thought back to his earlier statement_. I can't imagine a better life than growing old with you._

He tried to picture her, then, an old woman, in a small cottage in Ireland, surrounded by her – no, their -

"I'm sure it takes time, but if I were to begin, as soon as we arrived, might there be a chance we could be married then, in a church?"

Her question cut through his thoughts.

"Yes, maybe. We could also ask Mam's uncle. I don't know why I've not thought of that, by now. He might marry us, if we asked him too. The one I told you about, who Mam once kept house for. He's still in Dublin."

Sybil seemed encouraged by this. "Yes…and perhaps he would help me to….to learn what I will need to, to be able to. Not only so we can be married in the church, but so that by the time a child might come there would be no question of where he or she might be christened –"

Tom's eyes widened at this. This – this – this was something that they'd never really spoken of. Something so new, so fresh, so….

There she was, then, again. His wife. Her hair gray, her wrinkles deepening as she smiled. One of her hands rested on the shoulder of a little girl, their granddaughter, and behind her chair stood a man, his dark hair curly, his eyes blue. Suddenly the room in his bloomed into a cacophony of noises and voices. _Gran. Grandad. Mum. Da._

_We make our own families._

"Yes."

* * *

Tom and Sybil's conversation had ended shortly thereafter, when Edith came down and told Tom that Matthew needed his assistance. Their breakfast passed in relatively calm fashion, though Isobel kept hinting at a plan that she had in mind that would occupy the ladies for several hours, later on.

After the last cups of tea and coffee were drained, Edith and Sybil washed up the breakfast dishes while Isobel had a brief, quiet conversation with Matthew in the drawing room. Matthew came out of the room a few minutes later looking a bit tired and rather piqued. Letting on nothing, though, he asked Tom then to assist him outside. It was there, not too long later, that the storm broke.

"Sybil wants to convert." Tom licked his lips after the statement, turning his gaze to where Matthew was sitting.

"Really." The inflection in Matthew's voice betrayed his surprise.

Tom nodded once. "Aye. She told me this morning."

Steady light blue eyes met his gaze. "So she'll be a Catholic, then," Matthew said.

_A Catholic Crawley. _

The words hung in the air, unspoken by either man, but heard by both.

"Your family is all Catholic, I presume?"

"Yes."

"And you intend to marry in the Church?"

"Yes, if we can. It will take time, but if she begins the process right when she arrives…"

A nod.

"And it will be best the future, when we have….children."

Matthew's eyes closed then. Tom watched, feeling the mood shift.

_Shit. Well done, Tommy. Remind him that you have a future of marriage and children, while he is bound to his chair for the rest of his life._

Matthew didn't speak for a long moment, his eyes, when they opened, focused at a point in the distance, far away from Tom.

Tom said nothing, but simply looked down at the ground, looking at his boots. His gaze only came up when a bird flied over, crying out.

Matthew's eyes rose then, too, watching the bird fly across the sky. Alone, solitary, with no flock. In another moment he spoke, his words flooding out quickly, suddenly unchecked.

"You do realize how damn lucky you are. Marrying the woman you love. Marrying someone who is giving up everything she has for you, and not caring a lick for it. Marrying someone who looks at you and sees the sun, moon, and stars. You do, don't you?"

Dark blue eyes widened. Tom's hands slipped into his pockets.

"And you get to go off to another fucking country and live whatever life you wish. Marriage. The church. A family. Children. God forsaken children. You."

_Holy Mother of God, what brought this? _Tom searched his words. _Surely one comment about having a child wouldn't be enough to…_

"You do know that it's because you fell in love with the brave sister, the right sister. The one who decides what she wants, and then goes after it, with every last bit of strength that she has. The one who isn't afraid to be modern, to be what she wants to be, and not what her title, or her family, or her God forsaken tradition wants."

Tom swallowed, well aware that by this point, Mathew had wheeled himself around to face him. Anger and jealously burned in Matthew's gaze as he faced the man before him.

_And you did not. _

Matthew breathed out, heavily.

_You fell in love with the daughter who couldn't._

"That's what mother wanted to speak to me about, this morning. She intends to ask Sybil is she would like the dinner service that she still has from her own wedding, up in the attics. 'It will be good for them to have some things for their household, to take with them when they go,' she said. 'I had saved it for you, in case you ever wanted to use it for your home. But as the future Earl you'll hardly need it, I would think, and they could make much better use of it then we do, having it just sit in the attics.'"

_Jealous. Matthew is jealous of me._

"God knows that I'll never marry now, like this. I'd never weight a woman down with this for a burden." His eyes closed then, as if he was leaving the present place and transporting himself back in time. "Though God knows, if years ago, before the war…."

It took Tom only a moment to realize what he was remembering. _Before the war. When Mary rejected him. At the garden party…._

Tom's hand twitched then, as it always did, when he remembered that day.

_But it wasn't so kind to him. He realized, then, that she didn't love him enough to marry him as he might still be – a middle class man. A man who might set up housekeeping with his mother's thirty year old china. She rejected him – and his life – because she couldn't give up the only world that she'd ever known._

_Unlike Sybil._

He looked up then, at Matthew.

_But he still loves her, regardless. _

Tom had always known it, had recognized it a long time ago. He'd asked Sybil about it more than once, if Lady Mary would consider Matthew again. He remembered the terse words they'd exchanged over the issue, the moment not the brightest in their long and sometimes moody relationship.

_He tried to stop. He tried to find happiness with Lavinia. But then she couldn't handle it either…_

Tom remembered then when Lavinia came for the first time to Downton. He'd not thought much about her, but had been intrigued by her appearance, and her down to earth nature. Truth be told, her presence had served, if anything, to encourage Tom. _If the future Earl can choose the bride of his liking, a woman of no title, perhaps a daughter might be forgiven the same sin._

Tom had known it was ridiculous at the time, comparing himself to Lavinia, the daughter of a middle class solicitor. In truth, she was in many ways Matthew's equal. The daughter of a successful man, she was polished, kind, accomplished, and with a comfortable dowry, he had no doubt.

At first he had wondered if their affection was genuine. They did seem to truly care for one another, showing regard and concern for the other as lovers might.

Yet there were moments. Moments when Mary would see Matthew to the door. Moment when they'd stand and chat, outside, near the car. Their words were always carefully chosen, but the gestures were a trifle nervous, betraying their underlying tension.

And then there was the day that Mary had asked Tom to rise early, so she might see Matthew off, at the station.

* * *

_It had been rather out of character for her, and he'd thought it odd, at the time. He'd been in the garage, about to close things up for the evening and return to his cottage, when she'd appeared._

_His first emotion upon seeing her was surprise, the next a bit of irritation. He had been working on the engine of the Rolls, and his jacket was off, his shirtsleeves rolled up – certainly not how he should be greeting a daughter of the house. _Well, at least this one,_ he'd thought, his mind returning, as always, to Sybil. _She doesn't mind, but I rather doubt that Lady Mary….

"_Branson. I wonder if you would be so kind as to drive me to the station tomorrow morning."_

"_Of course, milady," Tom responded quickly, his hands hanging at his sides, unable to decide it they should begin work on his shirtsleeves or not._

"_I do realize it will be quite early, but I wish to see off a friend."_

"_Certainly."_

"_Thank you." She'd looked around then, a bit awkwardly._

I wonder if she's ever even seen the inside of the garage before_, he found himself thinking._

"_And please don't feel the need to mention this to Carson. No one else need know, or otherwise they'll all be up early as well, and there is no need for that."_

"_Of course."_

_They'd gone the next morning, he and she, to see Matthew off. He'd waited with the motor, of course. Had waited rather a long time, actually, as Mary did not return to the motor quickly, instead choosing solitude once the train had departed._

_She was quiet on the drive back. Tom had refrained from attempting to make conversation with her, seeing bits of red still visible on her ivory complexion, and a bit too much water in her eyes. _She still loves him,_ he'd thought then._

* * *

Now, for some reason, he decided to say it.

"She does love you, I think."

This brought Matthew's head down, his hand raking though his hair. He cursed quietly, gazing at his legs a long while before finally speaking.

"And what of it? I'm still half a man."

_You can't start this and not finish it. _Tom took a step forward then, feeling the need for motion. Stones crunched under his feet as he began to walk aimlessly on the garden path, as if his own legs somehow needing to make up for the lack of motion in his friend's.

"Only if you see yourself that way."

"Good God, Tom. You make it sound as though I can simply close my eyes and wish this away."

"She helped take care of you at the hospital."

"And would she want to do that the rest of her life? No. Mary could never spend the rest of her life as a nurse. That's Sybil. You're confusing the two, again."

_Hardly._ Tom bit it back, knowing he was already walking a fine line.

"She deserves a proper husband….who can….can….love her. Who can give her….children."

"Not all marriages produce children." _Granted, I was just having visions of mine, earlier, but it is the truth._

This brought a sputter from Matthew. "Oh, yes. Says the man who will undoubtedly sire a dozen, at least."

_Because I'm a low class Irish Catholic mick. _Tom's hands clenched then, still hidden in his pockets.

"That's what it's all about to them, you know. Continuing on, with the next generation. Even if she did love me, it would be no good. They'll be no heir, and Mary could never accept that."

_Because that's what she's been bred to do…sire a titled man's children._

Tom's head shook at the thought. _Another fecking part of this whole institution that I don't approve of. Thank God Sybil wants more. _

Still, though, there was the other to consider.

"And besides, she deserves someone to….to…"

_Be her lover._

"Have you ever tried?"

Tom didn't plan to say the words. He couldn't have. Or so he told himself, as he stood there, a stubborn expression on his face.

"What?" Matthew's mouth opened in surprise. "What are you inferring?"

_Good God if I know,_ the logical voice in Tom's head said loudly. His instigator, though, kept talking.

"Have you ever tried. Just once. Your legs, I mean. To use them. Your muscles would be weak, sure, but... Just to see."

"That's preposterous," Matthew sputtered, his eyes blinking rapidly. "There's no way. Dr. Clarkson said…"

"Dr. Clarkson could have made a mistake."

"That I wouldn't have seen? I don't think I'd be mistaken about my own body," Matthew retorted, his voice thick with sarcasm.

_Oh, what the hell._ Looking at Matthew then, Tom gave voice to a memory, then, that flashed through his mind. When he'd look back on this argument, much later, he would wonder how he'd not mentioned the fact earlier, at the time it happened.

"But you flinched, last night, when you bathed."

Wide light blue eyes stared at Tom. "The water was bloody hot. Of course I flinched."

_Which was of course my fault,_ Tom thought, resisting the urge to snap back. Instead he stood silently for a moment, replaying the scene in his head again._ I shouldn't say, unless I'm sure._

He and Matthew had been in the bathroom upstairs, Matthew wanting a bath, and Tom being the only one who could lower him into the large white cast iron tub, properly. It had been a bit odd, cradling Matthew in his arms to sit him down in the water, so he might wash himself. Neither man had said much during the entire procedure, Tom intending to leave Matthew as soon as he was in the tub, until he called for assistance getting out.

Except something had happened, then. Tom had lowered Matthew down, so that just his feet touched the water. Matthew had flinched upon coming into contact with it.

"But only your feet were in the water. There was no other part of you to feel it. So you must have felt…something."

Matthew stared at Tom in complete silence.

"But…."

"I know it's not a certainty. But it might be something."

_Something._

If Tom was right, it would be more then something, and they both knew it. It would be everything. Hope that Matthew might walk again. Hope that he could resume a normal life. Hope that he could marry, and be his wife's lover. Hope that he could indeed father children, someday. Hope that he could be the man that Mary would expect.

"How?" Matthew's voice was much weaker now, his tone uncertain.

"I don't know. But we could – try."

Matthew responded with silence, his mind seeming to need silence to ruminate on this possibility.

Finally, he spoke, his words almost too soft for Tom to hear them properly.

"I have felt slight….twinges…before. Or at least I thought I did. Clarkson always said they were what they call phantom pains, though."

"Phantom pains are for people who are missing limbs." This Tom knew firsthand. He'd had an uncle, as a child, who'd lost his leg in an accident, yet would still regularly complain that his foot bothered him. "You're not."

Matthew blinked again, his expression guarded, dubious.

"We could try."

_And if it fails?_ More unspoken, yet heard, words.

"Anything is worth trying."

For the first time since this conversation began, then, the tension seemed to break.

A ghost of smile appeared on Matthew's lips. "Is that how you proposed to Sybil?"

Tom coughed softly, taken aback at this sudden change. "No. Though I dare say I was about that eloquent."

"What'd you say?"

Pink crept into Tom's cheeks. "Something about betting on me."

"Betting? You asked her to gamble on you?"

"I suppose so. Though I suppose more than anything I was asking her to have faith."

* * *

_Fifteen minutes later, back in the Crawley home. _

"Sybil! Cousin Isobel! Edith! Come down!"

Sybil heard it first, her mind most attuned to Tom's voice. "What in the world?" she murmured, turning her attention from the trunk of dishes before her to give her sister and cousin a confused look. "I can't imagine what…"

Rising from the position she'd been in, on her knees on the dusty attic floor, she walked to the entrance of the attic, which they'd left open. "Tom? Is something wrong?"

"No!" a cheerful voice answer. "But you must come. Cousin Isobel and Edith too!"

Shrugging slightly, Sybil began down the narrow staircase, Isobel and Edith standing and coming over to follow behind her closely, each wearing a puzzled expression.

"Down here. In the front hall."

Down they went, to the second floor, and then the first. Yet when they got to the bottom stairs, the scene that greeted them was hardly extraordinary. There stood Tom, with Matthew in his chair, next to him. The only thing that seemed out of the ordinary were the grins on both of their faces.

"What?" Isobel asked, clearly confused.

"This," Tom said, turning from the women then, and towards Matthew. Crouching down, he put his arm under Matthew's.

Three mouths dropped open in shock, then, at what happened next. Leaning heavily on Tom, Matthew, as if by magic, began to rise from his chair. In a moment he stood, one hand still firmly grasping Tom, the other braced on the newel post at the bottom of the staircase.

Suddenly, there was motion everywhere. Isobel rushed forward with a cry, taking her son in her arms. Edith's hands came out to cover her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. And Sybil…

_Some Anglicans do it too. Yet I've never seen her…._

Yet there she stood, beaming at Matthew, and Tom, her hands moving as if by pure instinct, up and down, from her forehead to her chest, and then across, from shoulder to shoulder.

_In the name of the Father, and the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen._

Blue eyes met blue gray.

_I have faith._

* * *

_Next up – Tom Branson walks on water! Ha! _

_Ok, maybe not._

_But as I've decided that I wasn't going to bring Lavinia back in this fic, it had to happen somehow, and who better to assist?_


	41. On The Menu

_Thank you to the person who nominated me for a Highclere, and to all of those for voted for Branson Bites! I'm very flattered to have won an award. Speaking of which, I do have more plans for that fic...my next post may be over there. _

_In the meantime, though, our Manchester adventure continues. It's now Thursday afternoon._

* * *

"Now ladies, what shall we serve our guests tomorrow evening?'

Slightly wide blue gray eyes met brown eyes across the table, and then turned to the end of it, where Isobel was drinking a cup of coffee, a notepad next to her cup, a pen in her hand.

"Dinner?" Edith offered helpfully.

Tom smirked into his coffee cup, nearly laughing, as he lifted it to his mouth to take a sip.

Sybil, catching this, sent a very unladylike elbow in his direction. "Be nice. We've not done this before."

Tom gulped as the liquid in his cup nearly spilled over the edge then. "So much for table manners," he remarked dryly.

Matthew grinned at this, though Sybil did not. Turning to give her fiancé a dark look, she defended her sister. "As opposed to your table manners? Oh, yes. Should I recall for everyone how nicely you displayed those manners at Susan and James' home?" she threatened, causing three sets of eyebrows to rise slightly in wonder. _When you proceeded to run your toes up my legs? Not that it sounds quite so wicked to me now, I suppose, given that your hands have now enjoyed that same path._

"Ahem." Tom cleared his throat and gave her a properly chastised look, though Sybil knew those blue eyes too well to believe in their innocence.

"Just you wait until you have your first dinner with Granny. You'll learn very quickly that there is no deadlier place than the Crawley dinner table," Edith intoned across the table from Tom.

This brought a laugh from Isobel. "I can testify to that," she agreed. "Regardless, we don't want this Crawley table to be associated with death. Thus I suggest that we put together a simple, but nice menu for tomorrow evening."

"Although if things go badly I suppose there might be some comfort I knowing that there will be two nurses in the room, at least," Matthew added helpfully.

Isobel turned an exasperated gaze to her son, who was wearing a wicked smile. "Out! I want you out of my dining room. And you too, Tom. You two sit there smirking and joking while we have serious work to do. Just for that, you are both sentenced to doing the luncheon dishes. Right now! Get on with you, now!"

Tom and Matthew grinned at each other at this. Draining the last of his coffee, Tom stood, turning to drop a kiss on Sybil's hairline before gathering up her plate. "Don't spoil us with too lovely a meal," he teased.

Rolling her eyes, she watched as he began gathering up the plates and the silver, moving around the table quickly. Giving the stack to Matthew to hold, he pushed Matthew's chair out of the room, towards the small doorway just out in the hall that led down the stairs to the kitchen.

"Now," Isobel said a moment later, when the men were gone. "What would you like to serve?"

Edith looked at her with a concerned expression. "I know how to plan a menu for a dinner I'm not cooking, but I'm afraid that at present…."

Sybil nodded in agreement.

Isobel looked from sister to sister, her gaze understanding. "The best thing to do, when preparing a meal for dinner guests, is to keep it as simple as possible. Don't ever make a new recipe, as there's a good chance that something could easily go wrong, and the dinner be ruined. Serve whatever you make best. A simple dinner that is properly cooked and tastes good will do much for your reputation. A burned, or even worse, half raw dinner will win you no friends and admirers," she cautioned.

Turning to Sybil, she gestured towards Tom's now vacant place. "Now tomorrow is Friday. Will Tom want fish?"

"It doesn't –"

"Tom's Catholic?" Edith interrupted, clearly surprised.

Sybil turned to give her a disgusted look. "Yes, of course."

"Well, it's not as if everyone in Ireland is…" she began, attempting to cover her flub.

"Tom _is_ Catholic," Sybil stated matter-of-factly. "As is his family, and probably everyone in the neighborhood where we'll live. Even in Dublin, there aren't too many working class Irish Protestants."

Two thin eyebrows raised. "That's….interesting."

Sybil breathed deeply, turning her eyes to first Isobel, and then back to her sister. "And while I don't intend to tell anyone else, yet, I intend to convert once we are there."

All thoughts of dinner gone, Edith stared at her sister, obviously shocked. "Truly?"

"Truly," Sybil said, seeing calmer with each statement. Her gaze flickered then to Isobel, who seemed intrigued, but not terribly shocked at this revelation.

"I suppose then that you'll raise your children Catholic too?"

Sybil nodded. "Yes."

_Oh._

Edith paused, seemingly not knowing quite what to do next.

_Yes, there will be Catholic Crawleys – in a manner of speaking, at least._

"My grandmother was Catholic," Isobel said then, in an attempt to help normalize the conversation. "She was one of the dearest women I've ever known."

"Of course." Edith cleared her throat slightly, clearly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that…."

Sybil nodded, wondering if Edith would pursue the conversation later on when they were alone. Turning back to Isobel once more, she attempted to return the conversation to Isobel's initial question. "To answer your inquiry, no, Tom doesn't require fish tomorrow. He's not followed a Catholic diet since he's lived in England."

"Alright. It might be best to still serve fish, though, because if I remember correctly, Mr. O'Connell, who will be coming for dinner, is Catholic as well. I don't know if he prefers to keep the dietary rules, but it is best, of course, to always be cautious."

Edith and Sybil both nodded at this, having learned this from their mother, a well-respected hostess, long ago.

"How many courses will we have?" Edith asked.

"Well, as we will be serving ourselves, I think it would be best to keep it quite simple," Isobel said, matter-of-factly. "Probably just two, and then something for dessert, with coffee in the drawing room."

"May I make dessert? Though my cooking skills are not exactly satisfactory, I do enjoy baking," Sybil asked eagerly.

"Of course. Do you know what you'd like to make?"

Sybil nodded, pleased with herself for having come prepared. "I'll make a cake, if that's acceptable. I actually have a receipt for one with me," she said, looking quite proud. "Mrs. Patmore and Daisy taught me to make it long ago, before I left for York, when they began my cooking lessons," Sybil said, smiling at her memory of the day, in which a tea drinking Tom was constantly in the background. "I would prepare a pudding, but that will take much more time."

"You've made a pudding?" Edith said, clearly impressed.

Sybil nodded. "I have. Susan made us one, for dinner, when we were in Liverpool. She gave me the receipt, and then I actually made one, for Christmas this year," Sybil confessed.

"Funny, I never got to taste it," Edith teased, causing Isobel to laugh.

"I have no doubt that Tom enjoyed it very much," Isobel teased. "Now, getting back to Friday night…."

* * *

"Is it done?" Edith asked, peering over her sister's shoulder as Sybil looked into the oven's dark interior.

"I might be able to tell if you weren't standing in my light," Sybil sputtered, turning to give her sister a dark look.

"Better watch it, love. I think you might be picking up more than just Mrs. Patmore's recipes," Tom teased, having himself witnessed the cook in action many times, and having experienced the sharp edge of her tongue more than once himself.

"You're still having lessons with Mrs. Patmore?" Edith asked as she stepped backwards.

Sybil shook her head. "No. Only Daisy." Standing back up, having decided the cake needed another five minutes, she turned back to her sister. "I've been helping her in the kitchen for the last few months now, early in the morning. She's a first rate teacher."

"Really! How interesting."

Sybil nodded. "She's taught me all sorts of things about baking, and a few simple meals as well."

"Which are quite good," Tom said from across the kitchen, where he was putting away the dishes that he and Matthew had left earlier to dry.

"Do you two dine together regularly?" Edith asked, clearly intrigued and not a little amused at the secrets her sister and future brother-in-law seemed to be spilling quite freely.

"Sometimes," Sybil said, her tone a trifle saucy.

Edith shook her head. "I'm not going to ask where."

"In the garage," Tom said quickly.

"Mostly."

Edith's jaw dropped at Sybil's inference. "You -?"

"Oh, don't mind us. We behave ourselves."

"Mostly."

Edith began to giggle then at Tom's expression.

Picking up the towel she'd been using to open the oven then, Sybil snapped it at him, even though he was just out of range.

Yelping, Tom jumped slightly and narrowed his eyes. "Hey! It's not my birthday! " he protested, dancing away from Sybil as she proceeded to chase him around the small worktable in the center of the room.

Instead of continuing to pursue him, though, Sybil instead whipped the towel out to where Edith stood, catching her on her backside. "You're just like Grandmama!"

Sybil giggled. Coming to a stop behind her sister, she peered over her shoulder into the bowl of sugary glaze that Edith was stirring, Sybil having dictated the receipt to her just a few minutes before. "Hmmm," she commented, beginning to stretch her arm out. "I don't know if this is quite thick enough or not…." Without further comment then she dipped a finger in and brought it to her lips, so she might taste it.

Two sets of eyes watched her, each wearing a very different expression. Edith's were a trifle revolted, as Sybil sucked on her finger, while Tom's were suddenly quite dark. Sybil watched in amusement as his entire body seemed to straighten and tighten as he watched her.

"Eww!"

Sybil giggled as she watched her sister wince in disgust. "What? How is this different from licking one of Mrs. Patmore's wooden spoons?" she asked.

Edith gave her a suspicious look. "We were children then. And besides, I only did that once, I think."

_Yes, because Mary told you it was unsophisticated,_ Sybil remembered.

"Well, maybe I'm common then," Sybil said, dipping her finger back in the bowl for a second taste. "But I think it's quite tasty. A little thin, though. Add a bit more sugar to thicken it."

Edith shook her head, turning back to the glaze. Following Sybil's instructions, she shook in another bit of sugar, her brow furrowed with concentration at this new task.

"Is that better?" Edith asked a moment later, turning to Sybil for confirmation.

"Try it yourself," Sybil said, nodding towards the dish.

A tentative white finger hovered over the bowl.

"Oh, just go on," Sybil said, grabbing her sister's hand and dunking it into the bowl while simultaneously dipping her own again.

While Edith licked her own digit, trying to make sense of what she was tasting, the younger sister turned then, slightly, and caught, as she suspected she would, a pair of dark blue eyes watching her from across the room.

Remembering, in that instant, a long ago fish and chips dinner that they had slowly consumed in Tom's cottage, Sybil stuck out her tongue, and starting at the base of her finger, let it slide up her finger quite slowly, all the while her eyes on Tom. She did it twice – once on the backside of her finger, then on the front, making sure that each and every little bit of cake glaze was polished clean off.

She watched in satisfaction as Tom stared at her, shifting as he stood, slightly, his lips pressed tightly tougher as he would a dish towel around his hand, gripping it for all he was worth.

Clearly enjoying herself and relishing the hold she had on Tom, even on the opposite side of the room, she then bit the end of her finger slightly.

He coughed, quite loudly, his hand coming up to mask his mouth and the groan.

"I think it's about right," Edith announced a moment later. She carried the bowl over to the cake, which was cooling on the table next to the oven. "Now do I just pour it over?"

"Poke little holes in it first – you can use a pickle fork or a nut pick or whatever you can find. The glaze will pour down the holes then, and fill them up nicely. Then when you eat the cake, it will be nice and moist all the way through."

Setting the bowl down next to the cake and handing her sister a pickle fork, she swiped her finger in once more in the sugary glaze. "That's right," she said, making sure her sister was well engrossed in her project before walking over to where Tom was standing. Patting him on the back with her clean hand, she held out her finger. "They say that sugar helps a cough," she offered, using her best Nurse Crawley voice.

"That's honey," he said, glancing from her finger to Edith, and then back. "You are the most evil temptress ever!" he added, under his breath.

"Why? I'm just trying to help that awful cough," she purred quietly. "You have told me that my job is to make you feel better."

"Not when your sister is in the room!" he retorted quickly.

One eyebrow came up. "Are you not going to follow the nurse's order, Mr. Branson?"

Tom's eyes closed, and his hand clamped around her wrist. "If you only knew…." he began.

"I do know – or at least I understand," she said, misinterpreting his comment and taking slight offense at it. "It's not as if I don't –"

"That's not what I mean," Tom hissed, with another glance to Edith, he grabbed Sybil and pulled her outside of the doorway, just into the hall. He scanned the area quickly, as if wanting to be sure that it was empty.

"Then what do you mean?" Sybil said, seeming slightly less vexed now that they were mostly alone. In the distance Edith began humming to herself – though if it was out of idle happiness or simply self-preservation neither bothered to ponder.

She reached a finger up and traced the glaze along Tom's bottom lip, then.

His eyes shut, as if simply relying on his sense of touch would heighten the intensity of the moment.

When she was done she leaned forward, ready to kiss him, except that he spoke first.

"I had a dream that you did that once," he began.

_Interesting. Now that's not something we've talked of before._

"Really."

Tom nodded, his eyes opening slightly then, two dark slits. "A long time ago. But I remember it well."

This intrigued her terribly. "When?"

"Many years ago. Before I'd asked you to marry me."

"And you dreamt I was feeding you frosting? My, you do have interesting visions, Mr. Branson."

A sly grin crept onto his face. "Would you like to know the rest?"

"Of course," she said, her tone inquisitive.

"Do you want to know about all of the dream, or just the frosting bit?" he said, his voice indicating that this dream might have involved two very different sorts of sweets.

"Whatever you want to tell me," she said, one of her hands slipping under the edge of his waistcoat, her nails teasing him through his shirt. _Or whatever you dare to tell me._

"Well," he said. "We were married, and living in a flat in Dublin…"

Sybil nodded, feeling her breaths grow just a trifle shorter. _I bet I know where this is going, one way or another…_

"And I was just coming home from work. And as I walked in I discovered that you were already home. I remember walking into the kitchen, and seeing you there, intent on glazing this cake that you were making…"

She arched an eyebrow, as if to say _I expected better than this._

Tom, though, wasn't done. Bringing a finger up, he placed it at the one side of her apron, where the triangular front met the skirt. Tracing his finger up one side of it, and then across the top, and down the other side, watching as her chest rose and fell beneath this touch.

"And?" she asked, now again fully engaged, her eyes falling to his fingertips as they fell, as if her glance might put them back _there - _ and back into motion.

"And – " he said, with a quick glance to where Edith was. "And," he said again, lowering his voice slightly. "You were wearing this lovely blue apron. Except it wasn't like this….it was the sort that had ties on it. And the skirt on it was fuller. Full enough that it almost came all the way around you. Except that it didn't. And I remember noticing that quite quickly, because you _weren't wearing anything under it."_

Sybil sucked in a breath then, her eyes closing as if trying to conjure this same image.

"And when I walked in you turned around and started to run the glaze…"

"Sybil? Is this right?"

Light blue gray eyes flew open and turned towards the door and the sound of footsteps. Turning quickly away from Tom, as she wondered what shade of red she might be, just then, she swallowed and smoothed subconsciously at her apron. "Yes?"

Edith looked from Sybil to Tom, and then back again. If she noticed anything that seemed out of the ordinary, she refrained from saying it. Instead, she thrust the cake she was carrying forward for their examination.

"Is this alright?" Edith asked again.

_No, this is not alright! Go back into the kitchen and let Tom get on with it!_ Sybil's brain screamed, as she tried to resist the urge to yell at her sister. At that moment though, her eyes fell to the cake, and she found herself transported into Tom's dream. Her eyes lost their focus just slightly as she tried to imagine it, the feel of the apron on her skin, the cake on a table in front of her, Tom coming up behind her.

"It looks good enough to eat!" Tom said.

Sybil bit her lip at this. _Surely he doesn't….then again, it's Tom. Of course he does._

Edith smiled. "Thank you! I don't think it's too bad, for a first attempt."

"No. Of course not," Sybil added quickly. "Though they always say that practice makes perfect." _At whatever you're doing._

"It looks just as good as your first cake did, love," Tom said, as if he just remembered it. "I'll never forget how many cups of tea I drank that day, trying to find an excuse to stay in the kitchen," he said, giving Edith a bit of a crooked smile.

She shook her head at this. "I wonder if everyone will begin to remember all of those times you were 'accidently' around when you make your announcement."

Tom shrugged. "Perhaps. It is odd how well some memories stick with you. I was just starting to tell Sybil about something I remembered, from a long time ago…"

_Don't you dare. I'm sure you won't, but don't you dare stand here and tease me like that, when all I can picture right now is…_

"But, that's enough of that for right now. I suppose I should go up and see if Cousin Isobel needs any help with the silver."

_Yes. Go. Go fast. And meanwhile I'm going to go drink a glass of exceptionally cold water, in the hopes of composing myself again and returning my face to a normal colour._

"I expect she wouldn't mind if you finished your story first," Edith said.

Tom glanced from one sister then, to the other. Reaching out then, Tom squeezed Sybil's hand. "We'll finish it sometime, love, I promise."

A brown-haired head nodded vigorously.

"And then when that one is done…well…there's many more where that came from!"

* * *

_Does that dream sound familiar? Check out my one shot Just Like We're Playing House. _


	42. A Winning Hand

_Sorry this took forever for me to finish. I'm writing bits of chapters totally out of order at this point, as ideas come to me. I debated splitting this one into sections, but ultimately wanted to keep it together, though it is on the long side for me. There will be one more chapter before 'the dinner' on Friday night, and then at least one (though likely two) for Saturday. And then when we get back to Downton…..well, let's just say that like Tom and Sybil, you'll need to be prepared for reentry to the 'real world.'_

* * *

"Would anyone be interested in playing whist?" Edith asked as she, Isobel, and Sybil walked back up the stairs from the kitchen, having finished the dinner dishes.

"I must respond to some notes, I'm afraid. I should have done it earlier, but I cannot let it wait, as two of them are invitations to call while we're still in town," Isobel responded, a note of determination in her voice.

"Invitations for tomorrow?" Edith asked, well aware that that their time in Manchester was growing shorter by the moment.

Isobel shook her head. "For Saturday, actually."

"Aren't we going home on Saturday?"

Sybil felt herself tense slightly at her sister's words. _Yes, I suppose I must still think of it as home. Though this place has felt very much like a home, even after having been here only a few days. I suppose that's because here, I've been able to show my true feelings for Tom. Here we've been accepted and even encourage to be who we are – two people in love, building a life for ourselves. _

"Well, that's something I need to speak with everyone about, actually," Isobel said, slowing her pace slightly as she turned to watch the two sisters. "I was actually thinking about extending our visit an extra day."

"Yes. Please." The words were out of Sybil's mouth before she knew she spoke them.

What she didn't expect, though, was that her sister would agree so quickly as well.

"Yes, we should. We can telephone Mama and Papa. I don't believe they had anything planned for the weekend, so it should not be an inconvenience."

"You don't mind?" Isobel said, a smile in her voice as she looked at the middle Crawley sister.

"No. I'm happy to stay." Here Edith turned to grin at her sister. "And I'm sure that Sybil and Tom can be convinced, without too much effort."

This earned Edith a smile and a well-placed elbow from her sister.

"Hey! I'm on your side, remember?" Edith protested good-naturedly.

"You are," Sybil said, linking her arm through her sister's. "And I'm very happy for that."

Isobel smiled at the display of affection between the two sisters. "Well, if the boys don't have any complaint, then, I'll telephone tomorrow and speak to your mother," Isobel said, turning to resume her path up the stairs.

Sybil, however, didn't move quite so quickly. Tugging slightly on Edith's arm, she held the two of them back until Isobel had made it to the top of the stairs. "That gives you another day to see Mr. Townsend again, too," Sybil said slyly.

Edith flushed at this, her eyes darting around. "I don't know what you mean."

"No, of course not," Sybil teased. " You're not interested at all. It's just pure coincidence that you spent much of dinner peppering Matthew with questions about Mr. Townsend."

"Well, it is good to know something about your dinner guests in advance, so you can plan a pleasant conversation with them," Edith explained, failing to meet her sister's eyes. "Besides. Tom had plenty of questions about Mr. O'Connell."

"Tom is hoping that Mr. O'Connell's father might hire him," Sybil answered, her tone a bit dry. "Are you planning on applying for work with the Townsend family?"

A ginger eyebrow rose and Edith giggled. "I don't know….perhaps I should consider it. It seems to have worked for Tom."

At this Sybil unlinked her arms with Edith only to swat at her. "He didn't take the position with Papa because of me," she retorted quickly.

"Yes, and I'm sure he's stayed for years because of his affection for Papa, too," Edith replied sarcastically.

"He wasn't sweet on me in the very beginning."

"Yes, I suppose he had to meet you first."

Sybil grinned at this. "I suppose so."

"It didn't take him a long time, though."

Sybil pressed her lips together at this, thinking back to those early days, the rallies they had attended together, her scheme to help Gwen find work elsewhere, and how Tom had run out to tell her all about it, that afternoon at the garden party. She looked down at her hand then, and saw another one holding it, larger, and a bit rough. "No, it didn't." Her brow wrinkled slightly then. "Though I've made him wait so long."

"It is impossible, isn't it? Or unlikely, at least. To meet someone, and just….know."

Gray blue eyes met brown. "It can just take one meeting, you know. It does happen that way, sometimes."

Edith blinked.

"It can."

Edith broke the gaze then, looking down. "The way you tell it, it took you a long time."

Sybil nodded slightly. "It did, for me to acknowledge it, at least. But not every romance is that way." Reaching out, she grasped Edith's hand in her own, seeing Edith's foot move out of the corner of her eye.

"He lives in Manchester," Edith said then, much quieter.

"And?" Sybil responded.

"I know almost nothing of him."

"Then you must talk to him more. Tomorrow night."

Edith gave her a frustrated look. "And what will I accomplish in one evening? After tomorrow, I'll probably never see him again."

"I'm sure our guests will stay for awhile, when they come. We'll all eat together, and then spend the rest of the evening together. They'll be no smoking and brandies for the men with us sentenced to the drawing room. We'll all be together."

"And am I to hang on his arm all night then, ignoring everyone else?"

Here Sybil shrugged. "And if you did? You'd hardly be the worse for it. Only so much harm can be done, I'm sure."

"That's not how it's done, and you know it," Edith snapped back, the many years of Cora's attempts to make her daughters good hostesses on her mind.

Blue gray eyes snapped at this. "Pardon me. Is that how we're to behave, then? As we would at Downton? Because in case you'd forgotten, there will be very little that is as it is at Downton – as exemplified by the fact that your future brother-in-law – or should I say your chauffeur – will be at the table as well."

Edith flushed at this, but had the decency to look away. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant."

Sybil didn't reply.

"I just – you're the brave one, and I…."

A protest sounded in Sybil's throat, then.

"Well, you are," Edith protested.

Sybil blinked then, looking from Edith to the wall behind her, and then back. Exhaling, the hand at her side clenched, and then opened again. "I'm the brave one," she said softly, shaking her head. She looked back up then. "Edith….if I had been brave, I'd have said yes to Tom years ago, when he proposed to me. I wouldn't have waited for the war to end. I wouldn't have made him wait these last two and a half years, whiling his life away in Papa's garage while he could have been doing something with himself, making something of himself. A brave girl –" her voice pitched here with heavy emotion "- a brave girl would have married him then, and not risked losing him, as I could have, so easily."

Neither sister spoke for a long moment.

Finally, it was Edith who broke the silence. "So what am I to do, then? Move to Manchester?"

Sybil smiled vaguely at her sister's attempt to lighten the mood. "Seek out his company tomorrow night, and then perhaps suggest something for Saturday."

"For Saturday. Like?"

"A walk, or tea, perhaps."

"And then?"

"Perhaps you can write to one another."

"And? It's not as if Papa and Mama will ever ask him to visit, when they've not met him."

A smile played on Sybil's lips. "So ask Cousin Isobel to invite him."

Edith's eyes widened slightly at this. Turning her gaze towards the top of the stairs, where she'd last seen Isobel, she spent a long silent moment registering this.

"Would it be imposing…?"

Sybil shook her head. "I don't think she'd mind. Though you do realize that if Isobel is for you, then Granny will probably be against you, at least in principle." Sybil smiled. "Though of course I'm not the expert on these things. He's not titled, of course, he does come from a good family, I'm sure. And he's Matthew's friend, which I expect would count for something." Sybil thumb rubbed the back of Edith's hand. "And heaven knows that in light of what I'm about to announce, a middle class lawyer will be quite acceptable."

A long moment of silence fell then. Edith looked as though she was about to speak more than once, but it took her a few tries before she actually managed to do just that. "But surely, I can't…"

"He's a good man, Edith, I'm sure." Sybil looked at her sister sharply. "Matthew thinks highly of him. He considers him a colleague, and a friend. Surely that says something, as he is a good judge of character."

"Matthew thinks well of Tom," Edith replied, returning her sister's gaze.

_Yes, thank God._ Sybil breathed out then. She had never really expected anything like this to happen, before she and Tom would leave. Their plans, of course, had never involved telling so much of her family. And wish as she might have, she'd never dreamed that so many of them would embrace Tom, and their love, so completely. "I do hope….that he and Tom will be friends, over the years."

Here Edith's voice dropped to match her sister's. "It will be terribly hard, when we're back home again."

_Home._ That word again, with its dark connotations. _Home. I wonder how long it will take for Dublin to feel like home._

"It's so odd to think of what it will be like, without you."

This comment caused Sybil's eyes to flutter open again then, to stare at her sister.

"I wish we could have been better friends earlier, you and I. Now we're just growing closer, and yet you're about to leave."

There was a long silence then, as both acknowledged the truth of Edith's words.

"I will miss you."

Edith smiled weakly at this. "I will miss you too."

"You can come and visit us, in Ireland, if you like."

Edith nodded. "I intend to." She grinned then. "And perhaps you can take me to a pub, then."

A bell rang in Sybil's mind. Returning her sister's grin, she nodded her head definitively. "That's what we'll do Saturday night."

"What?" Edith asked, not following.

"We'll ask Mr. Townsend to come with us to a pub!"

Edith's eyes widened at this. "Do you think he would want to?" she squeaked.

"Do I think he might want to have a drink or two and then have a chance to dance with you, perhaps a bit too close, in a busy, noisy pub on Saturday night?"

Edith blinked at the image her sister was conjuring. "Would it be like that?"

"I rather think so. It was in Liverpool, though that wasn't a Saturday night." Sybil grinned as she watched her sister flush prettily. "Come on then, you said you want to."

Edith giggled guiltily. "I know. I rather think I do."

* * *

"Are you going to play?" Edith asked Tom from across the table as Matthew placed a card on top of hers.

Tom frowned and stared at his hand, wishing for the hundredth time that he'd not allowed the Crawleys to talk him into a game of whist, which he had never played before this evening. Yet he'd said yes_ – _of course – when the girls had finally made it to the top of the stairs and interrupted the conversation that he and Matthew had been having in the drawing room.

"I…um…"

"You must play a trump if you have one," Matthew said, peering around to examine Tom's cards.

Tom glanced at Matthew warily. "You're not even my partner! You're not supposed to be looking at my cards!"

At his other side a pretty brunette flushed slightly at the words 'you're not supposed to be looking', thinking about what she had seen a couple of mornings earlier. Thankfully, no one was watching her, as she twitched in her seat slightly, tilting her head a bit until she could see the full length of Tom, sitting in his chair.

"Yes, but your partner can't see your cards, and from the way I'm holding them, I can," Matthew sighed. Edith had offered to partner Tom after suggesting the game, as she was the strongest whist player in the family. "Besides, at the rate we're going, no one is ever going to get five points." Here Matthew's eyes rose to look at his youngest cousin, who was herself not much of a bridge player. "Though I suppose one of us will have to score eventually."

Tom frowned at this, missing Matthew's dig. Sybil, for her part, lifted her eyes from where they'd been focused on Tom's backside to give her cousin a dirty look.

"What is trump, again?" the frustrated Irishman asked.

Matthew sighed loudly. "Good God, Tom! It's diamonds!"

Tom coughed, shooting Matthew a dark look. "Alright, alright!"

"Now Edith led, and she played a high card, so it would be smart to play your lowest tr – your lowest diamond," Matthew explained.

Edith watched with amusement as Tom turned his hand of cards in Matthew's direction. "Just tell me what damned card to play," he muttered.

This made Edith giggle. Looking around the table at her three companions, all of whom seemed to be wound rather tightly, she put her own cards down on the table and pushed back her chair. "Right. While you two decide what Tom should play, I'm going to get us something to drink. Does anyone have a preference?"

"There may just be wine downstairs," Sybil said. "Cousin Isobel didn't buy anything else at the market, did she?"

Edith shook her head. "No, but I found some other bottles downstairs earlier, when the cake was baking."

"Did you notice what they were?"

"I think there might have been some whiskey, or maybe bourbon."

"Bourbon?" Sybil asked. "Sounds like Grandmama has been here," referring to their American grandmother, and her taste for the potent drink.

"Whiskey. Please," a desperate Irish voice pled.

This time both sisters laughed. "Alright then," Edith said. Walking around the table, she came to stand behind Tom, a hand resting on his shoulder. "Do you promise that you'll play then, if I bring you a whiskey?"

"Stop looking at his cards!" Matthew protested, remembering in that moment that what made Edith an ace at whist was her uncanny ability to remember cards, thereby allowing her to determine what had already been played, and therefore deduce what had still to fall on the table.

Edith grinned. Reaching a finger to Tom's cards, she tapped a two of diamonds. "Play that next."

"Get out of here!"

* * *

In another quarter of an hour the foursome was back together around the table again, each of them with a half dozen cards in their hand, and a partially full tumbler at their elbows.

"Are you feeling better now, love?" Sybil said, reaching out to lay her hand on Tom's after playing a card on the pile.

Tom smiled at this, the width of his grin perhaps having a bit to do with the fact that his tumbler was nearly drained. He glanced at it then, over to Sybil's, which was missing a few swallows. _Too bad we're on different sides of the table. If I remember correctly, Sybil's hands tend to activate when she's had some whiskey,_ Tom thought wickedly. _ Then you might be able to tell me how I'm feeling._

Resigning himself to the company, though, he tried to keep his reply proper. "Much better."

"That's good," she cooed in a slightly huskier-than-normal voice that caused Matthew's eyebrow to raise across the table. Shaking his head at the two of them, he raised his own glass to his lips and drank.

"Beat that!" Edith said, putting down her high trump card then, causing Matthew to groan. "That's seven tricks for Tom and I –"

"No doubt helped by the fact that you know every single card in his hand," Matthew sputtered good-naturedly.

"Can I help it if he's a natural?" Edith sauced back, looking triumphant.

Matthew snorted. "He's a natural at something, I'm sure," he muttered darkly.

"Matthew!" Edith laughed, blushing.

"What?" her blonde haired cousin replied. "That was a perfectly innocent comment! I wasn't inferring anything other than that Tom is very…good at cards."

"Right," Edith fumed. "And I'm the Queen of Sheba."

"No, that's Grandmama," Sybil added dryily. "Or at least that's what Granny calls her. And as for you….really!" she scolded Matthew across the table.

"All I said was that Tom was a natural at something, I'm sure. Like – driving –" Matthew suggested, his hand wrapped around his tumbler now and gesturing vaguely into the air. "If your mind happened to think of anything else, then that's your own problem."

"Ahem!" All three Crawleys turned to look at a rather red faced Irishman then, who was having a hard time believing what his three table partners seemed to be discussing, quite openly. _They may dress refined, but underneath…._

Tom caught Sybil's eye then. _And speaking of underneath….._

_Oh, feck. I'm just as bad as them, too._

"Your turn," he said to Matthew, his voice sounding slightly strangled.

Placing his tumbler back onto the table, Matthew pulled a card from his hand and threw it onto the growing pile. "There's a trick, if my partner can follow properly," he said, looking across at Sybil.

"I need to play a club, since that was led, yes?" Tom said, looking around for confirmation.

Edith nodded. "Play your four. They've got this one."

Matthew shook his head.

Sybil, though, motioned for calm as she lifted a card to play. "No need to worry, I do have it," she said. "As you say, I'm quite good at following through."

_I have no doubt,_ Tom thought, a wicked grin coming back to his lips. "Wahoo!" he cheered lightly as Edith played then, and took another trick, putting them firmly in the lead.

Just then a gray head popped into the room. Quickly appraising the scene before her, which included four young people around the corner card table, an open bottle of whiskey on the table, and four glasses emptied to assorted levels, she spoke. "It sounds as though you're having quite the time in here."

"Our cousin and future cousin-in-law are cheating at whist," Matthew groaned.

"Ah," Isobel said, looking amused. "I presume you mean Edith and Tom? That must mean that Sybil's behaving herself then, at least."

"Not for long, I'm sure," Edith offered dryly. At this her little sister turned to stick her tongue out at her, with Edith taking only a second to respond in kind.

Isobel laughed. "Well, I'm tired, so I'm going to go up. I would say don't do anything that I wouldn't do, but as that could possibly bring up too many questions, I think I'll just say goodnight, then."

"Good night Mother," Matthew replied, his tone firm, suggesting that she would be wise to leave before the urge to tell stories was too much to resist.

"Good night Cousin Isobel!" the other three added, Tom raising his glass to toast her.

As he brought it down, he realized that it was nearly empty. "I don't suppose I could get a refill?" he asked.

From across the table a finger rose at him. "Only after we have at least another point. I need you at your best if we're going to win this thing."

Tom finally received his drink after the second hand had been played. After the fourth, when Matthew and Sybil had officially lost, Sybil announced that she needed something sweet to help sooth her pride. When Tom stood to accompany her to the kitchen, however, Edith and Matthew both protested, arguing that they would both like something too, and if they were to trust Sybil and Tom off in the kitchen on their own, it would likely be another half hour before they saw any biscuits.

Pouting, Sybil went downstairs on her own, bringing back a tin of biscuits a few minutes later. Edith, meanwhile, scampered upstairs to use the bathroom. They both returned at the same time, and walked in together.

Neither sister could help but smile at the scene before them, Tom turning from the fire, which he'd been working at with the poker, while Matthew told him some sort of story that made him laugh. Both looked totally relaxed as they noticed the girls, Tom smiling at Edith before turning to give Sybil an even larger grin.

_I wish Mary could see him like that,_Sybil thought, as she caught watched Matthew shift in his chair slightly, attempting to flex his legs. The motion made him wince slightly, but he apparently decided that the pain was worth it, as he tried again in another moment.

"Ready for another hand?" she asked, as the two made their way over to the table. Tom moved around to pull out Edith's chair for her so she could sit, nodding his head as any gentleman would. Sybil, for her part, stood next to her chair, waiting for him to come around to her side of the table.

"Milady," he said, standing much closer to her then was proper. Just as she moved to sit, though, he slide the chair back further, sitting on it himself, with Sybil landing on his lap.

Everyone laughed at this quick move, including Sybil, who thrust an elbow back into Tom's ribs as she blushed. "I should make you sit here all night then, like this. You think you're clever, but…."

Her words died off as Tom leaned forward and whispered something in her ear then, for only her to hear.

"Break it up, you two," Edith scolded from the other side of the table. "You're at least supposed to attempt to behave when you have witnesses, you know."

At this a dark blonde head popped out over Sybil's shoulder. Using his best lower class accent, Tom grinned. "'m sorry miss. 'm not used to settin' 'own with me betters."

Edith rolled her eyes at this, while Matthew laughed.

"I think we really should separate the two of them," Matthew said, gesturing to Tom and Sybil, who were still sharing a chair. "It's the only way we'll get them to play anything."

"Good idea," Edith agreed. Standing, she came around and poked her sister in the shoulder. "Stand up."

"You're no fun," Sybil grumbled good-naturedly.

Tom, for his part, began to twist his feet around the legs of the chair. "Did you know that I've seen –"

"Out!" Edith said, pointing her finger at the chair where she'd been sitting. "Or I'll lock the door to our room tonight and hide the key so Sybil can't leave until I'm up and ready to escort her," Edith threatened.

"Yes'm," a schoolboy-like Tom Branson said, hanging his head in mock humility.

Matthew's hand came up to his face then, and he rubbed at his eyes. "My God. You are absolutely awful."

Having been deprived of one sweet tasting treat then, Sybil decided to try the other. Reaching for a biscuit, she bit into it and chewed. "Mmm."

"So are you pairing me with her, then? If the last game is any evidence, I don't think we'll last very long against the likes of you two," Tom said, moving to resituate the glasses according to their new seating arrangement.

Edith's brow furrowed at this. "That's true. I suppose I didn't think of that," she mumbled, before taking a drink of the whiskey in her glass.

"We could play something else," Matthew suggested, reaching to help himself to a biscuit.

"We should play poker!"

Three pairs of eyes turned then to look at Sybil, who was raising a hand up to cover her mouth, as she'd just spoken with her mouth half full. Flushing, she chewed, swallowed, and then smiled. "We should! It's fun!"

"You know how to play poker?" Tom said from across the table, a note of admiration in his voice.

Matthew's head nodded. "You used to play at the hospital, with the other nurses, didn't you?" he said, the memory of a discussion between some of the nurses coming back to him then.

"I'm actually quite good at it," Sybil proclaimed in a self-satisfied voice before taking a sip of whiskey.

Tom crossed his arms over his chest, then. "Well! I think that sounds like a challenge." He grinned. "If you lose, will you shoot the rest of your whiskey?" he asked, nodding towards her glass, thinking about the fact that there was a decent chance he might be able to get Sybil alone later and have a chance at potentially reaping some benefits of her alcohol-induced handiwork.

A haughty eyebrow arched in challenge. "Maybe."

"Eh – pardon me – but I'm never played before," Edith said, waving from her side of the table. "While such entertainment was apparently deemed suitable in the hospital, those of us who were at the convalescent home weren't afforded quite so broad an education."

Matthew shrugged. "You can learn. It's not any harder than whist, and you're good at cards," he said, finishing his biscuit and brushing off his hands. "Much better than your future brother-in-law, over there…."

At this Tom stretched out his hands in front of him and cracked his knuckles. "Just you wait, Mr. Crawley."

Rolling her eyes, Sybil turned to her sister. "You'll do fine. There's nothing to it. Some things are similar to whist, like the fact that the ace is high…"

"So what are we betting?" Edith said, as she gathered up the cards to shuffle them, the foursome having played two practice hands already, with all of their cards turned up on the table, so Edith could see what the other three were doing.

"I'm fresh out of coins at the moment, and as I'm too nice to want to win everyone's hard earned pounds," Sybil drawled, "I suppose we'll need to think of something else."

"I thought Tom was betting you a drink," Matthew said.

"You can't bet with only one person," Sybil said, giving Matthew a 'you should know better' look. "Five cards each, Edith," she said, as her sister began to deal. "Unless you all want to take him up on his offer."

"What?"

"That whoever loses – all three of them - have to empty their glasses."

"I'm game," Matthew said, reaching for the bottle to refill his own.

"I'm in," Tom agreed quickly, looking from one sister to the next. "The question is, are you girls brave enough?"

"Do you really have to ask yourself that question?" Sybil said, a challenge in her voice.

"Have you not learned yet that Sybil will take any dare you offer her?" Edith grumbled good-naturedly, her eyes then accidentally finding those of a certain Irishman, who was grinning at this. She shook her head. "Wait. Never mind. Forget I ever said that."

"Well, if we're betting on how much alcohol we can all swallow, there's a good chance we won't live to see tomorrow, the way these two are likely to go," Matthew said. "We'll just bet on drinks this time, and then we can do something else for the next hand." Turning to Tom then, Matthew winked. "I'm sure that Tom can give us some pointers. I've heard he's very good at convincing people to take his bets."

Tom gave him a dirty look as Sybil giggled. "I can't imagine what you mean, Mr. Crawley," she responded saucily.

"And for the sake of learning how to play, Edith, you're not allowed to fold. You should see it through, for the experience."

"Do you all get to fold?" she retorted, wondering a bit just how much she was about to be set up.

"I won't fold," Sybil said, as if to reassure her sister.

Edith, however, only snorted. "I can't remember the last time I saw you fold – at anything. I'm not sure the word is in your vocabulary."

Sybil arched an aristocratic eyebrow at this. "Are you implying that I'm stubborn?" she asked haughtily.

Three smirks met her gaze. "No. Absolutely not," Tom answered flatly.

"I resent that!" she fired back, teasing. "I can be quite pliable when I wish."

"Lucky for Tom," Matthew retorted, tipping his glass up to take a swallow.

"Matthew! Good Lord!" she responded quickly, shocked, if somewhat pleasantly, by her cousin's cheek.

Edith, who didn't quite seem to get the joke this time, responded evenly. "I'm quite pliable too. When I was little, I could even put my feet behind my head. Grandmama showed us how, once, when she was visiting."

"I have to meet this woman," Tom said, becoming more impressed with Sybil and Edith's American grandmother with each story he heard. "Can she really do that?"

Edith nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes. Well – mostly. She could get herself into the position….she just had a hard time getting out of it, then."

Sybil giggled, remembering the incident herself. "You should have seen Mama and Edith and I trying to help her, while Mary looked on, completely aghast. It was quite funny. Thankfully Papa wasn't there."

"Or Granny." Edith paused then, the cards now thoroughly shuffled. "So there are five cards each, and do we look at them when we pick them up?"

Matthew nodded. "Yes. Now, look at the cards, and don't reveal anything," Matthew said, nodding to his cousin.

The table fell silent for a moment, until a sort thud was heard under the table. "Tom!" Sybil giggled.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Alright, children. Are you ready?"

Sybil, giggling, turned her cards upside down then, and reached under the table to retrieve her shoe. Reconsidering her decision, though, she instead decided to slip the second one off instead. _I mustn't let myself get distracted, _she thought as she found herself looking at Tom, as seen from beneath the table. _Must. Not…._

"Now, everyone says if they want to open or check," Matthew said. He looked around then. _"_Do we have anything we can use for chips, at least?" he asked, his eyes scanning the room.

"There's a chess and checkers set in the compartment under the table, isn't there? Are the pieces in there?"

"Let's look," Matthew said, raising his glass and gesturing for Sybil and Tom to do the same. "There were at one time, though I don't know if the renters might have moved them."

Tom watched in interest as Matthew flipped up his edge of the table, and opened a box located underneath.

"That's impressive," Tom said, watching as Matthew unloaded the otherwise hidden compartment.

"They were very fashionable in the Georgian period," Edith said. "Granny has one too."

"Interesting," said the Irishman who loved to tinker with things and understand how they worked.

"Now," Edith said, once the table had been righted. " Each piece will count as one, yes?"

"Sure," Sybil agreed, dividing them into four piles. "Here are yours, and yours, and yours."

"Now. Time to place your bets."

It only took a few moments for the hand to get underway, bets being placed, Tom raising the bet, and cards being exchanged. When the moment of truth finally came, and all four hands were laid on the table, Sybil won the hand with a full house (sixes over twos) while Matthew had a pair and an ace. After a quick inventory of the hands to explain their ranking for Edith's sake, Sybil then pointed to Tom's glass and said "and now is when you drink, thank you!" in her most authoritative Nurse Crawley voice.

"Slainte!" Tom said, raising his glass and motioning to Matthew.

Matthew picked up his own, which he clinked against Tom's. "To the woman who takes only the best bets!"

Edith watched this with interest, and was ready when Tom then turned to clink glasses with her. "Sil – what did you say?"

"Slainte! It's the Irish equivalent of 'Cheers!'"

"Slainte!" Edith echoed, pausing just a quick moment to consider the amount of alcohol in her glass.

"Drink up!" Sybil said, motioning to her sister. "All of it. You must."

Edith took a drink then, as Matthew and Tom both tipped back their glasses and emptied them in one swallow.

"You can do better than that, Edith," Matthew said, as soon as he'd swallowed. "Tip it back and swallow it all at once."

"Shoot it!" her sister encouraged her, feeling very much the experience woman.

"Shoot it?" Edith asked, her face betraying her skepticism.

"Come on then, it's not that hard," Sybil said, reaching for her own glass then, and in spite of her win, tipping the brown liquid down her own throat in one gulp.

"Right," Edith said doubtfully. "Here goes." Gulping then, she downed the rest of the whiskey in her glass at once.

"Well done!"

"Well done!" Edith's table mates cheered her on.

"My God!" she said, her hand coming up to her chest. "That was – strong!"

Sybil giggled, amused by the startled expression that Edith wore. "Are we ready for the next hand?" she said, reaching for the cards and piling them together.

"What are we betting on this time?" Tom asked, still watching his future sister-in-law.

"I think we should play for secrets," Sybil said, her voice dropping slightly in a mock conspiratorial tone. "We did it at the hospital sometimes. It was great fun!"

Tom rolled his eye at this. "Secrets?"

"What? Do you think you don't have secrets worth sharing?" she challenged him.

_Burp!_

Before Tom could bother to answer, a large belch flew from Edith's mouth. Shocked, Tom, Sybil, and Matthew all turned towards her, their mouths open in amusement.

"Pardon me!" Edith said, a dainty hand raised to her mouth, and a silly expression on her face. "That was –"

_Burp!_ Another popped out then, startling Edith and sending the other three into gales of laughter.

"Is it a secret that Edith burps so loudly?" Tom teased.

At this Matthew, who had already had quite a bit to drink, made a fist and pounded on his chest at his breast bone. _Burp!_ He grinned then, as though he was twelve and out with the lads.

"You're disgusting!" Tom said, laughing. "Really! You all look so normal, and so refined. If you were in my mother's house, though, she'd have your hide for that! I think I might have better manners then you do!"

Matthew turned his blue eyes to the ceiling above. "Where do you think I learned to do it?" he said, suggesting the origin of this until now hidden talent was already upstairs.

"Holy Mother of God," Tom muttered, taking great pleasure in this display, regardless of what he might be saying.

"I've never been able to learn to do it," Sybil pouted from the other side of the table.

"She also can't roll her tongue," Edith said, proceeding to show of her own ability then.

"I can roll mind, and fold it," Matthew bragged.

"I can…." Tom started, as he caught his fiancee's eye. _Well, you just wait love… _"I can roll mine too."

"Hhmpf," Sybil said, feeling as though she'd been bested. Suddenly, though, she began to giggle again.

"Do you remember, at the servants ball this year, how Mosley belched in Granny's face? Did I not tell you that?" she squeaked as Matthew, Tom, and Edith all turned shocked faces to her. Relating the story quickly, she soon had everyone laughing with her.

"Good Lord!" Edith giggled. She turned to Tom then, the game temporarily stalled. "Will you dance with me again, when we go to the pub on Saturday? We did rather well together at the ball."

"We're going to the pub on Saturday?" Matthew asked.

Edith looked to Sybil and nodded. "I – well, we – we'd like to. Before we go home."

Tom shrugged. "I'm willing."

"Is it just the four of us who are going to the pub?" Matthew asked mischievously.

Edith flushed slightly. "I suppose your mother can come as well, if she wishes," she said, determined not to let Matthew back her into that corner quite yet.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Don't even suggest it, or she will."

"No she won't. She's had an invitation to have dinner with someone on Saturday, I think," Sybil said, relaying their earlier conversation with Isobel.

"Right. That's Mrs. Stamford, I believe. She and mother were on the hospital board together," Matthew said. "So. Is there anyone else you might like to invite?"

Sybil began to deal, smirking slightly at her sister's further deepening blush.

"I suppose that would be up to you," Edith said, attempting to sound cool, though she seemed anything but.

"Should I inquire tomorrow evening if Mr. Townsend has plans?" Matthew asked teasingly.

Tom bit back a laugh, attempting to cough instead. Edith, meanwhile, shot Matthew a dark look. "That's your decision," she said. "He's your friend."

"Yes. My friend. And you have no interest in him at all."

Edith picked up her cards and studied them intently.

"Are you passing?" Sybil asked.

Edith nodded.

"On your hand?" Tom asked, clearly not sure what Edith meant. "I'll pass too," Tom said.

"Do you have a specific pub in mind?" Matthew asked, putting two checkers in the center of the table, signifying that he was placing a bet.

"You must have had a favorite," Sybil said, matching Matthew's bet herself.

Matthew looked across the table at his cousin. "There is a place near my office where we would often go for lunch, but they don't have any music, I don't think, and it sounds as if you wanted to dance."

"I don't – it doesn't matter," Edith said, not sure what he was asking.

At this, Tom sighed. "Yes, she wants to dance with him," he said, wishing for the thousandth time in his life that the Crawleys would just say what they meant. "She wants to see him again, and have a bit of fun. Surely there must be a pub, or even a new dance hall somewhere where we can do that."

"A dance hall?" Edith asked.

"For public dances," Sybil explained. "They're very popular now."

"Have you been?" Edith asked, clearly intrigued.

Sybil shook her head. "When would I have done that?"

Edith reached to put two chess pieces in the center of the table. Tom, however, shook his head.

"In Liverpool?"

Edith, Matthew, and Sybil drew new cards then, and proceeded to play out the rest of the hand while the conversation continued.

"Well, I don't know what all you do," Edith said suggestively, as Sybil raised her bet.

Tom smirked at this, reaching for his glass. _Thank God!_

Edith, however, caught his look before he succeeded in drowning it. "Not that I might want to know everything."

Matthew laughed and drank as well. "Probably best we don't," he joked.

"Still, if I ever manage to win a hand at this, you will owe me one secret," Edith said. "Do we get to ask the others, or are they allowed to tell whatever they want?"

Sybil shrugged. "I've played it either way, though it's more fun if you get to ask. Then you can put everyone on the spot," she said.

"That sounds terribly rude," Edith said a moment later, as she put down her cards to reveal a full house. Grinning, she took a drink then, and, much to everyone's amusement, proceeded to pound her chest as Matthew had earlier, coaxing forth a large belch. She squinted then, searching for inspiration for the proper question to ask. "Name your first kiss."

Sybil turned to look at her sister. "Who do you think?" she said rolling her eyes. "Tom Branson, last fall."

"Elizabeth Townsend, when I was twelve," Matthew replied calmly.

"Old man," Tom intoned dryly. "I was six."

"Six?" squealed Edith. "Good Lord!"

"I know," Sybil muttered.

"I was a full grown lady of ten," Edith announced then, pleased with herself.

"Ten?"

"Patrick."

"I didn't know you kissed Patrick!" Sybil said shocked.

Edith giggled. "Twice, actually."

"Well, well. Who would have guessed that Lady Edith Crawley was kissing boys when she was only ten years old?" Matthew smiled. "Anything else we should know about you?"

"She once fell headfirst into a pigpen on one of the farms when we were children," Sybil teased.

"Because Mary pushed me in," Edith quickly added.

"She likes to drive too fast," Tom said, grinning.

"And who taught me that?" she retorted back, saucily. "You're the one who took me out once and pretended to reenact the Grand Prix."

"In one of Papa's cars, I have no doubt. "

"I do have a taste for the very _best_ things," Tom added.

Matthew snorted. "I've noticed. You do realize that's very unsocialistic of you," he added dryly.

"Is that a word?" Tom's eyebrows rose. "And I beg to differ. I like to think that it is quite egalitarian. I may be a working class lad from Dublin, but I still think I deserve the very best."

"Uh huh," Matthew moaned.

"I can tell you something – well lots of things, really – about Tom that no one knows," Sybil said, pointing a finger in his direction.

"Yes, but the question is, do we want to know them?" Matthew shot back.

"He plays the piano."

"Really! Do you know any duets?" Edith asked, perking up instantly. "Sybil and Mary are both rubbish at the piano, and Mama never plays anymore. Would you play with me?"

Tom looked around the room. "Now?"

"Sure!" Edith said. "Come on then," she scolded, standing up. Before she left the table, though, she took another deep swallow of whiskey, smacking her lips together afterwards. "Mmm. That's good stuff."

Sybil and Matthew both began to laugh uproariously at this, while Tom only shook his head.

"We'll play – here, you come sit with me, and we can play something. What do you know?" she said, going over to stand at the piano. "And then we can play more poker, except I think we need to bet with something else." Leaning down, she pulled at the piano bench.

The bench, however, didn't come.

Squatting down, Edith tugged at it again, trying to figure out why it wouldn't come. When she pulled again, though, she pulled too hard, and fell back onto the floor, giggling loudly.

"What else are we going to bet on?" Matthew asked.

Sybil spoke up quickly, relating another hospital story. "One of the nurses told me once that she played poker for clothing, once! "

_Strip poker. Holy Mother of God…._

It was then that he saw it. Cream, and tucked just under the edge of the divan that Edith was now lying next to, laughing so hard that she couldn't seem to stop. Instead, she just rolled from one side to the next.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't grab it, without everyone seeing. Instead, he watched in mute horror as he watched Edith reach for it, a confused look coming over her face.

"Hey! That's – it's a stocking! Silk, too! Sybil, is this one of yours? How did it end up down here, all crumpled up?" Edith said, waving the cream stocking like a banner above her head.

A deep laugh rumbled then from Matthew's chest as he watched Sybil and Tom both turn the darkest shade of red. "My my my. That must have been quite the winning hand!"

* * *

_My apologies if I messed anything up in regards to whist or poker – I don't play either. If you're interested in what the table might look like, google Georgian card table. Some of them are absolutely fascinating with all of their hidden compartments and assorted tops and game boards. _

_The term strip poker seems to have come around during World War I._

_And if you're wondering when Sybil lost her stocking, see the chapter entitled "Really, Truly". _

_Up next? Some morning repentance._


	43. Confession

_Disclaimer – I'm not Catholic, but I am a Christian who has attended many Masses. I decided to send them to a weekday Mass instead of a Sunday (Saturday evening didn't come around until the 1960s) because it's smaller and would be less pressure. I also know that I totally glaze over huge doctrinal things here, like transubstantiation, but I don't see Sybil and Tom these things as much, as Sybil's conversion isn't about the altering of her faith. She's converting because it's the safe, smart thing to do, and because it will mean so much to Tom and his family. _

* * *

_Friday Morning_

"How are you this morning, love?" Tom asked quietly as Sybil closed the door to the room she and Edith were sharing behind her.

"Not too bad," she said, reaching a hand up just in time to cover a yawn. "A bit thick-headed, but not terrible."

"How will your sister be? She doesn't normally drink much."

Sybil shook her head. "I expect she'll lie in for awhile, if Isobel will let her. I wouldn't be surprised if she was still in bed when we come back."

Tom nodded at this, his hand reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat for his watch. Brushing his thumb over the cover before pushing the small pin that opened it, he checked the time. "Right. We should be going, love."

"Do you want a biscuit for the walk?" Sybil said. "Isobel said that they'd wait breakfast for us, but I know that I'll be quite hungry by the time we're back."

Tom shook his head and replaced his watch. "No, actually I can't. You're not supposed to eat before Mass."

"Oh."

"You're supposed to be – pure, or clean, for lack of a better term - before you receive the Eucharist," Tom said.

"Oh. I didn't know that."

Tom reached out and took Sybil's hand, leading her to the stairs. "You can have something quick, if you'd like."

"No, I'll wait. Now I'll not be able to take anything, correct?" she said, still trying to clarify what exactly she could and could not do at the small weekday Mass that they'd be attending this morning.

"You can participate by standing and sitting and sitting, and kneeling, if you wish. You can sing, but everything will be in Latin, so I doubt you'll know any of the responses. We'll need to get you a prayer book at some point so you can follow the service. They'll teach you the Latin responses in the classes that you'll need to take before converting. Can you read Latin?" Tom asked, not quite sure what Sybil's education had included.

"No. I've learned a few medical terms, but the only language I ever learned a bit of was French, and a trifle of German from our governesses. Nothing that's ever proven to be terribly useful, let me assure you," she responded dryly.

"Do they mean the same things our responses do? Generally, at least?"

"Some of them are similar, " Tom said. "I suppose they always sounded different to me, though, since the responses at the church at Downton are all in English. You can try them if you like….some churches keep a prayer book or two in the back. But you can't participate in the Eucharist unless you're Catholic," he said.

"Right." Sybil walked down the stairs slightly behind Tom and out the front door, which he held open for her. As soon as they were outside she turned and tucked her hand into his arm, where it stayed securely on their entire walk to church.

The idea of going to a weekday Mass that Friday had occurred to Tom not long after they'd had their conversation in which Sybil asked Tom if she should consider converting. He'd asked her about it later, after popping down to the church, which was located only a few blocks away, and checking the time. There was a weekday Mass at seven o'clock each morning, he'd been told, for anyone who wished to attend. A priest would be available twenty minutes beforehand to hear confessions.

Sybil shivered slightly in the early morning air. Raising her free hand to her hat, she checked to make sure that it was secure. She'd peppered Tom with questions about any necessary attire the day before. After settling on the fact that she would need to have her head covered (which was no different than the Church of England parish where she'd grown up), she then launched into all sorts of questions about what the Mass would be like, and what she should expect.

"Will you take – receive – " she corrected herself, stumbling over the words slightly, "the Eucharist then?"

Tom nodded. "I should."

"Do you have to confess first?"

"Yes. You're not supposed to take it unless you've been to confession."

"It does sound a little personal, confessing your sins to another person."

Tom smiled wryly at this. "Well, the Church does like their chain of command."

"That doesn't sound like something a good socialist would approve of," she teased lightly. "Have you ever considered subverting the order and just confessing to God?" Sybil looked down as their feet stepped off a curb together, their movements perfectly aligned. Her voice dropped slightly, as she asked the next question. "Will you tell him then – the priest, I mean - about us?"

"Are we a sin?" Tom replied, turning to look her in the eye.

Sybil flushed slightly. "No – well – " _I'm sure some people would think that we are._

"I might have to….confess some thoughts I've had about you….or some of the things we may have done."

Blue gray eyes widened at this, and her feet stopped, right in the middle of the street.

A motor honked at this, causing Tom to tug at her arm. "Come on, love."

"You – you're not – certainly you won't – " she stumbled, her face flushing dark in the early morning light as her feet struggled to move again at a normal pace. _Good God. Don't tell me that he's going to tell a priest, of all people about how we've kissed and touched and…_

Tom chuckled and reached across to put his other hand over hers and squeeze it. "Generally one does these sorts of things in….rather generally ways. Comments about impure thoughts, inappropriate desires."

Sybil seemed to relax at this. _ Good. I suppose if anyone was too detailed they'd probably never be able to look their priest in the eye again, then. _"Are you telling me that you think about me in the confessional?" she teased.

Tom's eyes squeezed shut and he winced for a moment before laughing guiltily. "Let's just say that I've not been to confession in a very long time."

Sybil laughed loudly at this, startling a maid who was out scrubbing the front steps of a middle class home they were walking past. "Should I expect to be sitting through half of the Mass alone, then, while you recite your litany of wrong doings since coming to Downton to an overwhelmed priest?" Sybil asked, her tone a little cheeky.

Tom shook his head. "It's not been that long, love. I have been to church since coming to Downton. I've gone to the occasional Mass in Ripon, when I've had a day off."

"On a weekday?"

Tom nodded. "I've not been to Sunday Mass in years, because if you remember correctly, I normally take you to church."

"Right." Though he had, of course, sat towards the back of the church with the other servants who attended. That would be another thing that would be nice, in the future - being able to attend services truly together.

"Is weekday Mass different than Sunday Mass?"

Tom shrugged slightly as they continued walking. "It's shorter, and there's generally not much of a homily – that's the sermon."

"Did you go for a specific reason, or just to go?" she asked, curious at this religious side of Tom, which she'd not seen much of before.

Tom cleared his throat slightly. "Generally for a specific reason. If I could arrange it, with my day off, I've always tried to go on the day that Da died. Mam used to always take us as a family that day, and sometimes she'd give masses so it would be said for his soul that day. That's another difference between us, of course. We believe that you should pray for the soul of people who have died."

"Isn't that called purgatory?" Sybil asked, remembering the term from somewhere.

Tom nodded. "Catholic doctorine teaches that when we die, we need to be purified before we can enter Heaven, with God. That's what purgatory is – a purging of the sins, and cleansing of the soul."

"Do you believe that?" Sybil asked, intrigued.

Tom shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose it's what I was always taught."

"Yes, and you accept everything that you're taught so faithfully, with no inclination to think for yourself," Sybil teased.

To his credit, he smiled at this. He turned here and looked at her a bit bashfully. "We also pray for the living, you know. In fact I've actually gone a few times to pray for you – for us."

Sybil's lips melted into a grateful smile here. She squeezed his arm slightly, moved by his words. "That's was very sweet of you," she said, knowing that the words were inadequate, but not sure how to describe the swelling of her heart at the thought. _Yet not all of those prayers were ones of thanks, I have no doubt,_ she thought, thinking back to some of the rougher moments in their relationship. She paused here and then turned away, seeming suddenly self-conscious. "Did you go, after…York?"

Tom's eyes flickered over to her face again then, before returning to the walk in front of them. "I did….after awhile. I suppose I was more angry, though, then repentant."

_And now I confess,_ Sybil thought, deciding it was time to reveal one of her secrets to Tom. "I did," she said quietly.

"Go to Mas – to church?" he asked, correcting the slip.

Sybil nodded. "Yes. There was – a chapel – at the college. I went in a few times – to….to pray – and to seek God's will," she said, her voice small.

Tom's steps slowed, then, as they were nearly to the church. Turning, he took both of her hands in his then, and held them tightly. "And do you think this is God's will?" he asked, his question sincere.

Sybil nodded slowly, drinking in the love she saw in Tom's eyes. "I know that many people would think that we are going against God, and the order to things here, on earth." She smiled, then, her face shining with an inner light. "I suppose, though, that I like to think that God is a bit of a socialist Himself, and that He doesn't see the differences that separate us here, on earth."

Tom was quiet for a moment before speaking, as if searching for the proper words. Finally, he spoke. "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus," Tom quoted quietly, the lines come back to him from his childhood catechism classes.

At this Sybil smiled warmly. "Yes," she said, confidence filling her voice. "_Thank God."_

_Up Next - Dinner at Isobel's!_


End file.
